The Last Arendellian
by Azimuth Zero
Summary: Anna remembers nothing of the family that abandoned her. By day, she runs odd jobs in the Outer Rim; by night, she is haunted by cryptic dreams. When an encounter with a group of fugitives drags her headfirst into the conflict between Light and Dark, she must untangle the threads of her past in time to face the relentless Inquisitor now hunting her across the galaxy (Star Wars AU).
1. Step Into Your Power

**Step Into Your Power**

He stands in the center of the observation deck, surveying the training arena below through the thick panels of glass.

Two young figures clad in thin, featureless garments move back and forth over the black metal grating of the floor: one a hulking Dowutin male, the other a lithe human female. They swing and jab at one another with narrow staffs crackling with white electricity—less deadly than the electrostaffs favoured by Purge Troopers, but every bit as painful. The Dowutin wields the training staff in one hand like a club, striking down at the girl with reckless blows that shake the arena. The girl moves in a blur, dodging and rolling with practiced precision, but it simply isn't enough to counter her opponent's brute strength. Guffawing with glee, the Dowutin makes a wide swing that catches her mid-jump, sending the girl skidding limply across the floor.

The girl lies there for an instant with smoke rising from her clothes. She pushes herself to her feet, the staff rising from the ground to meet her open hand as she brushes back a single stray lock of platinum-blonde hair with her other. Her voice comes through the speaker on the control panel, calm and emotionless.

"_Again."_

"_How many times do you want me to beat you to a pulp, Twelve? Aren't you tired of losing yet?"_

The Dowutin's tone is taunting, dismissive. He charges forward with a sardonic grin, the muscles of his massive arms rippling under his greenish skin as he spins his staff in front of him. The girl stands her ground, holding her own staff above her head in a defensive stance. As her opponent sweeps his weapon at her legs, she leaps backward, tumbling deftly over the blow as she makes a swift counter-jab while in mid-air. The tip of her staff connects with the Dowutin's shoulder, drawing out a sharp bellow of pain and rage. He smashes down at her with a fist but catches nothing as she feints just out of reach, her feet bouncing lightly across the grating below. With another roar, the Dowutin leaps forward with a savage upward swing, but the girl bends backward, avoiding the staff with perfect accuracy.

"_Enough with your tricks!" _the Dowutin yells as he redirects his momentum into a follow-up swing.

The girl's only reply is another deft sidestep that causes the staff to meet the floor in a burst of sparks.

He watches with quiet satisfaction. He's seen this scene repeated many times before—the opponent always fighting to win, the girl fighting only for practice.

The girl is special. She was the youngest Initiate to ever set foot in the Fortress Inquisitorius. Though she looks human enough, he knows she is not. Indeed, the girl is the last of her kind. He's made sure of that.

The girl's guard finally breaks as she attempts to parry blow after earth-shaking blow from the other Initiate. With a triumphant laugh, the Dowutin hits her with a backhand that sends her to the floor. Rising methodically to her feet, the girl dabs at the blood streaming from her nose with impassive movements of her sleeve. The staff flies unerringly back into her open left hand.

"_Again."_

He presses a gloved finger to a button on the dashboard to cut off the speaker as the sounds of sparring resume in earnest. His heavy footfalls and the rhythmic echoes of his mechanically-assisted breathing are the only sounds in the dark control room as he turns from the window, descending the steps to the lower level. Approaching the sliding doors to the arena interior, he takes a moment to scrutinize the semi-circular lightsaber hilt in his hand through the red-tinged eyepieces of his helmet.

The lightsaber of an Imperial Inquisitor is a deadly device. The grip is long, versatile, the right length to wield comfortably in one hand or both. The circular guard unfolds into a guide rail that allows the dual emitters to rotate freely about the handle. But this lightsaber is more than just a weapon—in an Inquisitor's hands, it is a symbol of the Empire's might.

Until yesterday, this one belonged to Trilla Suduri.

It is time for the girl's final test.

He steps past the threshold as the doors slide open with a whirr, boots clanking as they meet the metal of the arena floor. The dark walls are lit molten orange by the channel of fresh magma flowing underneath the strip of grating bisecting the arena. His cape billows around his calves as the cool air of the control room rushes toward the heat of the chamber.

The sparring Initiates react instantly to his entrance, dropping their staffs to stand stiffly at attention.

"_The Second Sister is no more,"_ he intones, his voice coming deep and granular through the filter of his mask. "_There is need for a replacement to take her place among the ranks of the Inquisitors."_

The Dowutin stares back with open hunger in his Sith-yellow irises, a grin spreading over his face as his sweat-soaked frame heaves with eager anticipation.

Opposite him, the girl is still as a statue, her face betraying no hint of emotion. Blood drips intermittently from her nose to stain the coarse grey fabric of her shirt. Her pale skin is marred with scratches and bruises, her cerulean eyes sharp and cold.

His respirator is the only sound in the silent arena. He moves to hold the lightsaber out in front of him, proffering it to the empty air.

The Dowutin Initiate's eyes lock immediately onto the weapon. The girl doesn't move.

"_The one who leaves this arena alive will have earned the title of Inquisitor."_

The lightsaber plummets.

The Dowutin reaches for it, drawing the weapon through the air into one massive hand before it even has the chance to hit the floor. A screeching blast resonates across the arena. The horns protruding from the Dowutin's chin cast shadows over his eyes as they are lit red from below.

"I will show you who is worthy, my lord!" he shouts as he whirls on the girl, cleaving the saber down upon his adversary.

The girl doesn't move until the last possible moment. She raises a single hand, splaying her fingers upward. The humming, white-hot blade stops a hair's breadth from the top of her head, as if meeting an invisible barrier. The Dowutin grunts in surprise, baring his teeth in a grimace of exertion as he struggles to complete the swing.

He never gets the chance.

The girl flicks her fingers forward, and the other Initiate is sent flying into the opposite wall of the arena with a thunderous clap.

The glow of the magma below dims perceptibly as the girl begins striding across the arena floor toward her adversary. Her hands are clawed at her sides, clutching the air as if to strangle it. A wind begins to stir in the chamber, fine white crystals darting through the air in turbulent paths. There is a faint crackling sound as a coat of gleaming frost creeps over the metal beneath her bare feet.

A hint of fear creeps into the Dowutin's once-smug expression as he pushes himself upright. He ignites the other end of the lightsaber, holding the twin blades in front of him like a shield.

"Your tricks won't save you!" Spinning the sabers in a droning blur, he lets out an animal roar.

The girl says nothing. As the other Initiate advances on her, her hands clench fully into fists. He's upon her now. The air thickens with whirling shards of ice until only the hot glow of the lightsaber blades remain visible through the blizzard. The sabers scythe down once, twice, spewing sparks and bits of molten metal as they strike the ground.

Then the blades fizzle out. The Dowutin screams. The wind dies suddenly as each individual snowflake drifts to a stop in mid-air, revealing the girl standing motionless at the centre of the frozen storm. A jagged, three-meter stalagmite of clear ice juts from the ground at her feet, stained black by the rivulets of blood seeping from the Dowutin's chest.

"What… are you?" the Dowutin chokes out, staring in horrified disbelief at the iridescent spear impaling his body.

The girl opens her hand and the lightsaber flies into her grasp from where it has fallen on the floor. The saber ignites as she steps forward. The plasma blade rips through the air with a sharp buzz.

The Dowutin Initiate's head thuds to the arena floor. The lightsaber blade extinguishes with a hiss.

The girl drops to one knee with her head bowed, still clutching the lightsaber hilt in her hand. The crystals dissipate in the air around her as the glow of the magma under the floor returns to full intensity.

"It is done," she states softly. A drop of blood falls from her nose, meeting the ground with a metallic _plink_.

He steps forward until he towers above the girl.

"_From this day forward you shall be known as the Twelfth Sister."_

He ignites his own lightsaber, bathing the girl's pale face in blood red. He touches the blade to her shoulders, first her left, then her right. The edge of the saber sizzles as it burns through cloth and skin. The girl does not flinch.

"_Rise, Inquisitor. That weapon belongs to you now."_

He extinguishes his lightsaber and returns it to his hip.

The girl stands slowly, raising the half-circle of the Inquisitor blade in front of her. She angles the hilt, studying it from every angle with a reverent gaze. Her thumb slides up the handle and the weapon ignites with a flash, first one blade, then the other. The crimson light casts the contours of her pale face into sharp relief.

With the flickering heat of the twin blades reflected in her eyes, the corner of the girl's mouth lifts in the barest hint of a smile.

* * *

**Wait, I can explain!**

**I spent the winter holidays binge-writing _Frozen_ fanfic and binge-playing _JEDI: Fallen Order_.**

**I woke up one morning with a fever dream of a fic so strange only a fool would attempt it. I am that fool, and a large part of me really believes**** this could be something magnificent if I manage to pull it off...**

**This fic is hard to categorize. The best way I can think of explaining it is it's a fic centering around Elsa and Anna from _Frozen_ in a _Star Wars _setting occurring directly after the events of _JEDI: Fallen Order_. This fic is a direct sequel to _Fallen Order_, with a story centering around the snow sisters converted into original _Star Wars _characters. The plotline will loosely parallel the plot of _Frozen_ (the first movie), and several other _Frozen_ characters will also be making appearances around the galaxy.**

**I'll probably be changing the category of this fic a lot as I try to give it its best home. I've also tried my best to make the _Star Wars_ content accessible to non-Star Wars people by including fully-linked appendices in my footnotes on AO3. Unfortunately, since FFN doesn't allow external links, you're stuck with either migrating to AO3** (works/22842217/chapters/54593410)** or having to do some research yourself. I also have cool art embedded in the chapter text on AO3, so maybe that'll make it worth the trip ;)**

**Updates every two weeks or so (hopefully).**

Thanks** jjpdn **for beta-reading for this fic!


	2. The Stowaway

**The Stowaway**

_Three years later._

* * *

Of all the places on Sriluur to try to hide from a murderous band of Haxion Brood goons, Dnalvec City is probably the worst.

Anna decides this the moment she spots the telltale horns of the three hulking Klatooinians pushing their way through the dense crowd halfway down the street. She'd almost be flattered that they sent three whole guys after her—if not for the fact that there are now three seven-foot psychopaths with arms thicker than her torso looking to truss her up and throw her in the trunk of a landspeeder.

By the way they're shouting and waving their blasters in the air, they've probably spotted her, too.

Then again, maybe they're just angry because they _haven't _spotted her.

She pulls the thin hood of her purple shawl over her head, sticking her hands in her pants pockets and doing her best to imitate the listless plodding of the people around her. For what must be the fifteenth time this week, she curses her rose-gold helmet. It seemed like a sound fashion choice at the time, but damn does it stick out like a sore thumb in any crowd. The stupid thing is so big her hood can't even fully cover it, either…

"_Hey, you!"_

The people behind her make sounds of protest as _somebody_ pushes them aside—probably the owner of those feet that are stomping so hard she's starting to feel tremors through the ground.

"_Pink-Helmet-Face, I'm talking to you!"_

She tries to calm her breathing and put on a tough face. They're Klatooinians. Big, burly, demonic-looking brutes, but hey, they're not bounty droids, so Sorc Tormo must still want her alive. Besides, the tough face part isn't really necessary behind an opaque rose-gold helmet.

She swallows nervously as she turns around. Having evidently realized the giant target painted on her back, the crowd is now giving her a wide berth. Right behind her, the leader of the henchmen is so close she can smell the sour sweat pouring off the grotesque, veiny flesh of his exposed green-brown musculature. She has to crane her neck up at a 45-degree angle to face him properly.

"Hey, fellas!"

Her voice comes out much higher pitched than she intends. She really should have picked a helmet with a voice modulator.

"The boss wants his spice, little girl."

She can see sharp yellow teeth poking above the murder-henchman's lower lip as he sneers down at her. His breath is positively rank.

"Look, Korg—that's your name, right?"

"_Klarg."_

"Right—hey, I was close! Klarg, I mean, we've known each other for, what, ten days? I feel like we've really built a connection! Remember that shootout back on Junkfort where you caught that blaster bolt for me?"

Klarg growls deep in his massive chest. She winces.

"Alright, bad example. Look, what I'm trying to say is that I would really appreciate it if you gave me a chance to explain!"

The last words come out strangled as Klarg hoists her off her feet by the throat.

"The boss doesn't want excuses. Where's the spice!"

The other henchmen crowd in, growling like feral hounds. She paws at the arm gripping her neck, but she might as well have been held up by an angry tree trunk.

"_Can't… breathe!"_ she protests weakly.

Klarg glares at her with jaundiced eyes that convey pure fury before finally letting go with a grunt. She collapses to the dusty pavement, her vision flooding with stars as the blood rushes back to her head.

"Talk."

Anna really wishes Klarg would stop breathing on her.

"Look, I had the spice, I did! Was gonna deliver it right to Tormo! It's not _my_ fault my pilot turned out to be a backstabbing crook who decided to blast me and dump me on this ball of dirt while he ran off with the cargo-"

"You lost the cargo!"

She scrambles back across the street as the three henchmen bear down on her. Now Klarg really looks like he's ready to do his murdering thing. Glancing around frantically, she finds the whole block completely deserted. She's alone.

"That lot of Nyriaan spice was worth thirty times your miserable life." The Klatooinian licks a black tongue over the teeth of his upper lip. "But one out of thirty is better than nothing. Get her, boys!"

The other henchmen chuckle menacingly as they close their massive hands into fists.

Anna slips her hand under her shawl. With practiced ease, her fingers find the cool steel handle strapped in its usual spot over her chest. Sighing, she flicks a switch with her thumb. She shakes her head, feigning a hurt look before she realizes that Klarg can't see it beneath her helmet.

"Klarg, I thought we were friends."

She whips out the blaster pistol and fires.

The brute to the left of Klarg is struck square in the chest by a fat bolt of blue light. He falls onto his back in a plume of sand and dust, convulsing as streams of electricity arc between his limbs and torso. She doesn't wait around to see how the others react; she's already darting down the nearest alleyway. Roars of rage echo magnified off the hard walls of sandstone and tarnished metal as she pumps her legs as fast as they can go. Something explodes behind her, and there are screams. She doesn't look back.

Unfortunately, looking forward doesn't turn out to be much help either when she turns a blind corner and runs straight into a wall. The alley she picked is a dead end. Of course it is.

But if there's one thing thirteen years spent scurrying about the Outer Rim has taught her, it's that there's no such thing as a dead end. She whips her head from left to right, scouring the walls until she finds it. A window, low enough that she can reach it with a running start, and large enough to fit through.

It's shuttered. Not for long. She flicks the switch on her blaster determinedly. Lethal mode.

"Sorry," she mutters to whomever the building belongs to as she takes aim.

The alley flashes red. The shutters explode in a burst of sparks, sending red-hot pieces of shrapnel ricocheting off her helmet.

"_There she is!"_

Two burly silhouettes round the corner. She doesn't need to see their facial expressions to know they're _pissed_. Backing away from the now-open window, she squeezes off two more shots in their direction. A tiny part of her hopes they got out of the way in time, but she ignores the urge to check. Instead, she runs and throws herself at the window.

The wall slams into her full force, knocking every last wisp of air from her lungs. Her fingers barely manage to hook onto the windowsill, and she scrambles to keep her grip on the ledge, kicking her legs against the wall in a desperate attempt to gain purchase. A blaster goes off to her left. Something hot and bright whizzes by her ear. Another bolt strikes the stone wall centimeters from her head, showering her in bits of sandstone.

She finally manages to pull herself up enough to hook her knee over the ledge. Diving into the darkness beyond, she lands face-first onto some kind of shaggy carpet. The purple of her cloak flops over her head and for a moment she fumbles around on the floor, blind and gasping for breath.

When she finally manages to untangle herself from her cloak enough to see, she realizes it's on fire. A yelp of surprise bursts from her lips. Fumbling with the clasp in a panic, she throws the swath of coarse fabric to the floor and vigorously stomps out the embers. As she hastily pulls the cloak back over her shoulders, she grimaces at the long blackened blaster trail now scorched across its back.

Another shot screams through the window and explodes on the opposite wall.

"_Get back here! You can't hide, Anna!"_

"It's _Ahh-_na!" she yells back indignantly.

A meaty green hand grabs onto the windowsill—her cue to leave. She dashes through the house, stooping under doorways and trying her best not to knock over too much pottery. A family lives here, it's obvious. There are well-worn toys strewn about the floor, and some kids' holovid is still playing on the squat holotable in the corner. She feels a stab of guilt at the sight. At least the kids don't seem to be home.

She skids around another corner and finds the living room. Amber sunlight streams in through another large window in front of her. Without a second thought, she clambers over the dining table, launching herself forward in a flying leap and kicking open the shutters.

Too late, she realizes that unlike the last window, this one doesn't open onto ground level.

Then she's tumbling through empty air, flailing her arms helplessly as her cloak billows wildly around her. She hits the ground—no, _rooftop_—on her hands and knees, sprawling forward onto her stomach. Her very bones feel like they're vibrating from the impact, but she ignores the pain and pushes herself back to her feet. Heat flares in her right ankle as she takes her first step, drawing out a sharp hiss from between her teeth.

Sprained, but not broken. She'll live. She clenches her jaw and starts walking.

She reaches the edge of the roof and grins despite her pain. Below her, the huddled buildings of the city give way to a vast expanse of flat sandstone and steel pocked with gigantic circular depressions spaced out at regular intervals. A spaceport. The yellow afternoon sky buzzes with the roar of ion engines as starships of every size and description flit in and out of the landing zones, thick as a swarm of flies.

By sheer luck, she's stumbled in the right direction after all. Not that that's particularly hard in Dnalvec—three of the four largest spaceports on the entire planet are in this city, after all. Kind of an inefficient distribution, but right now it's certainly working in her favour.

She sticks her blaster back in its holster and peeks over the edge of the roof. It's several storeys of rough concrete to the lower level. Risky, but doable. She laces her fingers together and cracks her knuckles. Vaulting over the ledge, she begins the climb downward, taking care not to put too much weight on her injured ankle.

It takes her longer than she likes to reach the ground. She breathes a small sigh of relief as her feet touch the sand-blasted pavement, the muscles in her forearms screaming for relent. The distant sounds of doors slamming and pottery smashing make their way to her ears from the open window above, and she smirks under her helmet.

She's got a good lead on them now. The Brood will have one hell of a time trying to pin her down once she's off-world. All she has to do is find a ship.

She lurches off down the street, heedless of the startled vocalizations of the people that she inevitably stumbles into in her haste. If this were an Imperial port, she would have been stopped and asked for identification ten times over, if not outright arrested for civil misconduct. Here, though, the scowling brown-skinned Weequay enforcers barely spare her a passing glance as she limps through the security checkpoint at one of the yawning spaceport entrances. Glancing around through the bug-eyed visor of her helmet, she can't blame them—she feels like she's stumbled into a warzone with the sheer amount of unconcealed firepower on display on the bodies around her. The sweat of a hundred different species saturates the air in an eye-watering concoction, mixing with the dust settling her skin in a grimy sheen. She shudders to imagine what it must smell like _without_ a helmet on.

She laughs out loud, relishing in the way the sound is drowned out by the crowd.

Sunlight trickles to the street from above, tinged orange by the meshed roof covering the streets of the spaceport proper. A wide road stretches in front of her, framed by thick doors of worn grey steel leading to each of the individual landing pads. She sticks to the shadows near the left wall, running a hand over the bulky terminal attached to the first door she passes. She doubts the security on the locks is particularly tough, but that backstabbing pilot took her slicer gear along with her cargo. This time, she'll just have to wait for luck to turn in her favour.

Thankfully, it always does, one way or another.

A commotion breaks out from somewhere toward the entrance. A short, four-armed figure dressed in faded red leather bursts from the throng, his flat head jerking back over his shoulder every few seconds with tiny ears flattened in fear. The man makes straight for the pad entrance behind Anna, slamming two of his hands on the door while he fiddles with a comm chip in his others.

"Cere! _Cere, _open up!"

The doors slide apart with a mechanical whine, revealing an older woman with short-cropped hair and dark skin wielding a large blaster pistol in one hand.

"Greez, what's going on?"

At that moment, two familiar figures shoulder their way into view through the crowd. It's Klarg and the other henchman. Anna tenses immediately and prepares to dash away, but as the thugs stomp closer, she quickly realizes they're not here for her. The many-armed man cowers behind his taller human companion, who is now leveling her blaster at the Klatooinians while slowly retreating back into the doorway.

"Greez! Who are these people?" the woman hisses.

"Out of the way, lady!" Klarg bellows, leaning forward and jabbing a thick finger in the man named Greez's direction as he towers over the woman. "The boss only wants this one."

"Guys, _guys_, I don't know what you're talking about," Greez says with a nervous laugh. "I've paid my debts to Tormo, we're all square now! Look, I'll even pay you-"

"Nothing you can pay is worth the bounty the boss put on your head after you stole his champion," Klarg chuckles. "I was sad I got sent to this planet to bring in some stupid little spice runner, but now I'm happy because you're gonna make me _rich!"_

For a moment, Anna thinks the woman is going to open fire. Instead, both of them whirl and begin sprinting down the hallway. The henchmen thunder after them, roaring with excitement. They leave the door open.

After barely a second's hesitation, Anna slinks through the doorway after them. Her ankle is stiff and swollen, and she silently thanks the noise of the thugs' footsteps for masking the sound of her own. Bright light shines from the end of the metal-framed corridor, silhouetting the muscular backs of the Brood henchmen.

She cautiously emerges into the open air of the landing bay, hugging the base of the wall to conceal herself in the deepest of the shadows cast by the angled rays of the afternoon sun. Her breath quickens with excitement as she runs her eyes across the ship sitting in the center of the pad. It's a long, sleek yacht with an elegant paint job of enamel white and metallic gold highlights. The bow tapers to a downward-angling twin cockpit, the hull widening in the opposite direction until it's split by a thick cylindrical section a third of the way from the stern. Atop the cylinder, a massive dorsal fin longer than the ship itself extends toward the sky.

None of this catches her attention nearly as much as the entrance ramp jutting from the hull that is currently extended invitingly to the ground.

The thugs continue to advance on Greez and Cere as they back across the landing bay.

"Nowhere left to run, Greez!" Klarg booms with a taunting grin.

The brute pulls out a set of stun cuffs from his belt, snapping them open with a flick of his wrist. Cere still stands defiantly between her friend and the Klatooinians, but the thugs barely even seem to notice her.

They're almost to the ship when a man with frazzled red-brown hair emerges from inside. An open-mouthed expression of complete incredulity spreads across his boyish features as he surveys the scene before him.

"Cal!" Cere yells over her shoulder. "Some help, please?"

The man dashes forward in a blur and inserts himself between Greez and the thugs, his hands raised placatingly.

"Whoa, whoa there! Everybody calm down."

His voice comes out higher-pitched than Anna expects, but something about the way he says those words makes her suspect he's more than a match for the two Klatooinians.

Klarg clearly doesn't have the same feeling.

"This is your one chance to run before I crush you like a scrap rat, little man," the brute growls, clenching and unclenching his fists.

She's on the opposite side of the ship from them now. Anna tears her gaze from the confrontation and back toward the ramp leading into the yacht—the now-_unguarded_ ramp.

The owners of the ship are much too preoccupied with not being abducted by the henchmen to notice a small girl stealing into their ship behind them. Hopefully.

She makes a run for it. Approaching from behind the ramp, she presses herself against the underside of the smooth metal surface and peeks carefully around the edge. To her surprise, Klarg and his buddy haven't attacked any member of the yacht's crew yet. More importantly, though, none of them are looking in her direction. She holds her breath and limps up the incline, shoulders tensed in anticipation of shouting and blaster fire.

To her relief, she makes it inside greeted by nothing but the soft hum of a holotable. Instinctively, she begins to scour the coolly-lit cabin interior for somewhere to hide. Her eyes take in a large terrarium set into the wall and low, cushioned seats upholstered with some exotic weave, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Having lived practically her whole life stowed away on ships, this one was certainly nothing to turn her nose up at.

Slowly, the smile falls from her face. This spice run was supposed to be the score that finally got her out of this life. So much for that.

The main compartment is too exposed. There has to be a better spot. She ventures toward the back of the ship, stepping carefully in case someone is still around. After a long pause of straining her ears in complete silence, she tiptoes down the narrow passage, passing several closed doors that probably lead to sleeping quarters. At the end of the corridor, she is greeted with a large room of bare metal and the massive rings of a hyperdrive glowing dully from the opposite wall.

The engine bay. Perfect.

She's about to climb down the ladder to the maintenance shaft when she notices faint lines criss-crossing the floor beneath her. Tracing a curious boot-tip along the concentric circles etched into the tarnished metal, she almost screams out loud when a small droid drops down in front of her. She shrinks backward from the two-legged creature, her hand sliding under her cloak to grip the handle of her blaster. The droid doesn't deploy laser cannons or stun rods like she's expecting, though. It only tilts its rectangular head, telescoping its ocular sensors as it regards her quizzically. She takes a hesitant step toward it. The tiny thing barely comes up to her knee.

"Hey there, little guy," she whispers, leaning down.

The sound of hollow footsteps from the entrance ramp has her jerking back. The crew has returned. At least, she hopes it's the crew, because if Klarg ended up killing everyone outside, she sure as hell doesn't know how to pilot this spaceship on her own.

"What was that, Cal?" she hears the one named Greez exclaim. "What did you do to 'em?"

"Just a little mind trick. It won't last long. Come on, if that wasn't our cue to leave I don't know what is."

"Don't need to tell me twice, kid."

Anna jumps as the engines whirr to life behind her with the deafening whine of spooling turbines. The groan of the retracting ramp is followed by a quiet hiss as the cabin pressurizes. She feels the floor press into her and she scrambles for a handhold as the ship jolts upward.

She grins widely, sticking her middle finger at the ground. So long, Klarg.

Only then does she realize that the droid is no longer with her. A mechanical pitter-patter of tiny feet fades down the corridor to the crew compartment, followed by the voice of the redheaded man.

"What is it, BD?"

The reply is a series of rapid chirps and beeps.

"What? There's someone in the engine bay?"

Anna's heart sinks to the pit of her stomach. Rising quietly from the floor, she pulls her pistol from its holster and thumbs the switch to stun mode. She hates threatening innocent pilots, but that doesn't mean she won't do it to save her own skin.

And the first rule of successful threatening is to take the target by surprise.

She steps out of the engine room and strides into the crew compartment with her blaster drawn. The man named Cal is standing beside the holotable with the droid perched on his shoulder, staring at her with his eyebrows raised in shock. The other two are still in the cockpit.

She points the blaster straight at Cal's nose.

The second rule of successful threatening is, of course, to deliver a killer one-line ultimatum. If only she had one. She tries to channel Klarg and say something tough-sounding, but her mind comes up blank. Instead, she and the man just stare at each other for a several long seconds, frozen. She's grateful for the helmet hiding her face as she feels her cheeks warm with embarrassment.

In the end, it's Cal who breaks the silence.

"Well, this is awkward."

Hearing his words, the dark-skinned woman turns from her seat in the cockpit and raises an eyebrow. At the sight of the intruder, her eyes go wide.

"What the hell is going on here!" the woman shouts, immediately drawing her own blaster and baring her teeth.

"No, Cere!" Cal exclaims over his shoulder, raising a hand in front of his companion's weapon. He turns back toward Anna with his eyebrows angled upward sympathetically. "Whoever you are, you don't have to do this. Put the gun down. We can talk."

His words are soft, calming. The blaster shakes in Anna's hand as she continues to stare into the man's kind face. He's not even holding a weapon. Despite the light stubble on his jawline, he looks young enough to be her brother.

She jerks the barrel of her pistol toward the older woman instead.

"She has to do it first," she says in a much smaller voice than she likes, struggling to keep the words firm and commanding.

"Cal?" Cere's voice raises in pitch as she stares back with a death glare.

"Do what she says, Cere," Cal replies quietly. "I can handle this."

The woman holds Anna's gaze for another instant before holstering the blaster to her hip in a single angry motion.

"Fine."

Cal lowers his hands. The little droid on his back clambers up until it's fully perched on the man's shoulder, tilting its head at her with that same quizzical look. Haltingly, Anna lowers her own blaster toward the floor.

"Please," she finds herself whispering. She sighs and holsters her pistol. Grasping the sides of her tight-fitting helmet, she slides it off her head with the soft click of opening latches. Her strawberry hair spills around her face, matted and sticking to her sweaty skin. "You can drop me off at the next spaceport, I don't care where. Just take me away from Sriluur. I… I'll pay you!"

She's lying through her teeth, but she's desperate. For a few breaths, there's nothing but tense silence.

"Please," she pleads again. "If the Haxion Brood catches me, I'm as good as dead."

"You're the spice runner those Klatooinians were talking about," Cere says slowly.

Anna nods.

The droid chirps twice from Cal's shoulder, and the man barks a hesitant laugh.

"We really got off on the wrong foot. Let's try this again." He extends a hand toward her. "Hi. I'm Cal Kestis."

Taking the hand cautiously, she takes a deep breath.

"Anna. Anna Arrel."

* * *

**FYI, "spice" is a blanket term for a bunch of different recreational drugs. Yeah, Anna's smuggling drugs.**

Thanks **thealeksdemon **for lending an eye on this chapter!


	3. The Fugitive

**The Fugitive**

"So, where are you from, kid?"

The four-armed, thickly-sideburned captain of the ship sits across from Anna at the table, currently in the process of dumping so much salt over his nerf steak that she wonders why he even bothered to cook it in the first place. Anna studies the man, idly wondering how little effort it would take to push him over given his comically large head. He says he's from a planet called Lateron, and the thought of whole cities full of bobble-headed grumps like Greez is enough to make her laugh out loud.

At least it would be, if she hadn't just been caught by said bobble-headed grump while trying to stow away aboard his very expensive-looking yacht.

Cal watches her expectantly from the seat neighboring the captain, a fork and knife sitting idly in his hands. The redheaded man hasn't touched his food, and neither has she. She clears her throat, suddenly wishing her helmet was back on her head instead of sitting uselessly in her lap.

"What's the matter? Rancor got your tongue?" Greez chuckles at his own joke.

"I guess I'm from Endor," Anna answers quietly.

"Endor?" Greez laughs louder. "No way. Nothing but forest and Ewoks out there."

"It's the…"

It's the earliest thing Anna can remember: waking up curled up on a rust-scored floor in the cargo hold of an Endor-bound smuggling freighter, cold and confused, her thoughts a nauseating fog through which she could make out nothing except the faint echo of her own name.

She doesn't tell them this.

"... it's the closest thing to home I have."

She glares hard at Greez, daring him to pry further. Thankfully, the Latero seems to have returned to his steak.

"What about your parents? Do you have any family?" Cal's words carry a hopeful note.

Anna's heart sinks, but she puts on a bright smile.

"Nope. Been on my own my whole life!"

"That must be tough."

She feels a hand on her arm. The redheaded man is giving her that look of sympathy again. Unbidden, a dull ache flares in her chest. It was tough. It _is_ tough. She can't remember the last time anyone cared about her wellbeing beyond the credits she was worth to them at the time. With Cal, though, she finds genuine concern in those pale green eyes. It's a nice feeling, a warm feeling.

A dangerous feeling. Last time she let her guard down, she got swindled of three million credits worth of Nyriaan spice. She shrugs him off.

"I've been taking care of myself just fine, thank you very much."

"Oh yeah, that's why she needed us to fly her out of that mess she left for herself back there," Greez grumbles loudly at his plate. "You'd think she'd be more grateful for us saving her skin, but _no._"

A retort is right on the tip of Anna's tongue, but Cal cuts in first.

"Greez, the Brood's been a thorn in our side since forever. If we can stop them from ruining more lives, even if it's just one, I see that as a win." He flashes Anna a quick smile.

Greez shakes his head to himself as he continues to fork bits of steak. Cal gestures to the plate sitting in front of Anna.

"Come on, try the food. Our captain here might be a bit of a grump, but nobody's said no to his nerf steak yet. Though the sample size hasn't been that large, now that I think about it."

"And don't you forget it," Greez mumbles. "Wait. That wasn't a compliment."

Anna looks down at the dark lump of meat on her plate before taking a strip of it with her fork and placing it hesitantly on her tongue. The texture is soft, the flavour rich and well-seasoned, and a soft moan slips out as she continues to chew. All hesitation goes out the window as she carves a second, much larger chunk out with her knife. She feels sauce stain the sides of her mouth as she shovels it in, but she doesn't care. After weeks of nothing but pilfered rations and stale water, she's taking what she can get.

"There you go! Another happy customer, Greez!" Cal laughs.

"If I keep this up, we'll never get rid of her," the Latero says sardonically.

Pausing in the task of demolishing her steak, Anna peeks toward the front of the ship, watching the whirling electric-blue maelstrom of hyperspace through the glass of the cockpit. With a start, she realizes she has no idea where they're going.

"Hey, um, where are you taking me?"

Greez finishes the last piece of his steak with a smack of his lips, dabbing at his wide mouth with a napkin.

"Well, the plan was to refuel on Sriluur before jumping to Nal Hutta, and I ain't changing course on account of you, kid."

"Nal Hutta?" Anna's eyes widen in surprise.

"That a problem?" Greez crosses two of his arms while planting the other two at his waist.

"No… I just didn't figure you guys for the type."

She's never been to the notorious homeworld of the Hutts herself, but everyone and their mother knows it's a lawless haven for every brand of criminal in the galaxy.

Greez and Cal share a meaningful glance.

"We're looking for new bounties," Cal says simply.

Anna's eyebrows just about fly off her head.

"What in… you guys are _bounty hunters?_" She reaches for the blaster under her cloak as she shuffles back in her seat. How could she have let her guard down so easily? "If you think I'm just going to let you sell me back to the Brood, think again!"

"You got sand in your ears, kid?" Greez waves dismissively. "We ain't exactly on speaking terms with the Haxion Brood."

"You're free to go the moment we land, Anna." Cal raises a palm toward her in an offering of peace. "Trust me, the last thing we want is to keep you on this ship."

"Cool your trigger finger before you hurt yourself," Greez adds with a shake of his head.

Anna's eyes flit back and forth between the man and the Latero. Slowly, she lets go of the blaster and puts her hand back on the steak knife.

Greez stands and takes his plate without another word as Cal finally starts on his own steak. It's a while before Anna allows herself to relax again. She's about to return to her food when she hears a commotion in the cockpit. The ship gives a sudden jolt, causing the remaining steak to hop halfway out of her plate. A glance out the now-dark glass of the cockpit confirms that they've dropped out of hyperspace.

"Cal, get up here," Cere calls from the comms station, pulling off her headset with wild eyes as she pokes her head into view. "You'll want to hear this."

Cal shoots Anna another glance before getting up from the dining table and moving across the cabin to take the headset. As he presses the speaker to his ear, a deep furrow forms in his brow. It's almost a full minute before he sets the headset back down.

"How long ago was this transmitted?" he asks urgently.

Cere's eyes flit briefly toward Anna before she speaks.

"It's fresh. Came through while it was still being broadcast."

Cal takes a deep breath, running a hand through his greasy hair.

"Do you think it could be a trap?"

"Everything could be a trap." Cere's words are sharp, almost bitter. "Are we walking into this one or not?"

There's a soft pitter-patter as the little droid from before makes its reappearance, hopping onto the edge of the holotable and scrutinizing the red blip now blinking on the projected starmap. It turns its head and chirps a rapid message toward the cockpit.

"Yeah BD-1, I hear you."

Cal walks back from the comms station to lean on the edge of the holotable. Flickering blue light bathes his face as he manipulates the projection with one hand.

"Greez, how do you feel about a little detour?"

"Depends on where we're going," the Latero answers from the pilot's seat.

The holomap zooms in under Cal's fingers until it shows only the orb of a single planet. The red dot continues to blink at the centre of the projection.

"Here, Sakiya."

"Sakiya?" Greez punches buttons on the dashboard above his head as he talks. "What's on Sakiya?"

"The source of the broadcast. We need to get there fast, Greez. There isn't much time."

"Wait, what? Can someone tell me what's happening?" Anna exclaims from her seat at the table. She can feel the ship rotating beneath her.

Cal meets her gaze from across the cabin, wearing an unreadable expression.

"We just got our next bounty," he states simply.

"Hold on to something, fellas!" Greez yells as he slams down the throttle.

The stars streak in lines of brilliant light over the black canvas of space outside the glass. Anna is thrown back into her seat as the turbulent blue tunnel of hyperspace tears open in front of the ship, the hull groaning in protest around her.

"Smooth as ever, Greez," Cere comments wryly.

"We're in a rush, aren't we?" Greez shoots back over his shoulder. "Get up here and help, BD-1! This lane ain't an easy run."

The droid scurries over and jacks itself into a circular port on the front dash. Cal takes a seat at the front of the cockpit, gripping the handrests of the chair to steady himself. Anna presses herself into her seat as hard as she can as the ship continues to rattle and lurch to Greez's careful twitches on the control sticks.

This trip better be a short one, because her lunch is threatening to make a dramatic reappearance at any second.

"Buckle up, boys and girls," Greez announces loudly. "Dropping into realspace in five, four, three…"

This time, the steak flies fully out of Anna's plate, leaving a streak of brown sauce on the thin purple tablecloth. The ship shudders violently, throwing her to the ground and sending a bolt of pain shooting through her injured ankle. There's a low-pitched whine from the stern as the hyperdrive spools down.

She blows stray tufts of hair from her face as she props herself back up on the table, swallowing hard to keep the bile from coming up her throat. Raising her gaze back out the front of the ship, she finds the flat void of space has been replaced with an arcing aquamarine horizon. A blue-white sun shines half-crested in the distance, its rays tracing streaks of shadow across the wisps of cloud obscuring the jagged continents below.

Greez continues to put out a continuous stream of chatter as the cockpit pitches down toward the surface.

"Hey, hands off the dash when I'm flying! Yeah, yeah, I can see the coordinates on this side too, you know. Now, sit back and let ol' Greezy work his magic."

Anna rarely gets the chance to fly in anything with windows as nice as this yacht's, and she drinks in the scenery of the descent with wide eyes. The sky above goes from pitch black to increasingly bright shades of blue as the bow of the yacht cuts through layer upon layer of cloud cover, the sunlight taking on a softer hues through the thick atmosphere. As they continue to descend, she begins to make out the sharp peaks of long mountain ranges separating the approaching landmass from a deep green sea that stretches on until it meets the sky at the horizon.

This won't be a bad world to lay low on for a few months until the whole business with the Haxion Brood blows over.

The ship plunges through a final layer of dense cloud. Drops of rain begin to land on the cockpit glass, denser and denser until the view is reduced to a distorted mess of criss-crossing translucent trails. Large angular structures loom through the veil, flashing shiny and metallic by the light of sporadic bursts of lightning. The engines change pitch as the captain coaxes the ship expertly between the buildings. Finally, she hears the roar of the thrusters echoed from below as the slick surface of a steel-paved landing pad rises to meet them.

The cabin door opens with a hiss, touseling her loose hair with a blast of wet, tropical wind. Greez steps out of the cockpit wearing a stern expression, his two left hands pointing straight at Anna.

"Alright, time to hit the road, kid. The _Mantis_ ain't a chauffeur service."

The Latero jerks his thumbs toward the open door. Anna sees Cal regarding her from the cockpit entrance. He says nothing, but there's something odd about the way he's looking at her.

She gathers her cloak around her shoulders and rises to her feet before she can dwell on it. Tucking her helmet under one arm, she manages a whole two steps in the direction of the exit before her sprained ankle betrays her, sending her sprawling to the floor in an ungainly heap. She pushes herself off the ground to see Cal walking toward her with his eyebrows raised in concern.

"Hey, are you okay?" He's standing over her now with his arms folded.

She laughs to hide her embarrassment.

"I'm fine, really!"

She pushes herself back to her feet. A traitorous gasp escapes between her teeth as her ankle protests at her weight.

"Alright, I twisted my ankle pretty bad jumping off a roof earlier," she admits in a smaller voice.

The droid, BD-1, pokes over Cal's shoulder and pops open a small compartment on the side of its rectangular head. With a puff of compressed gas, a glowing-green capsule ejects into the air. Cal catches the projectile deftly in one hand, offering it to Anna.

"What's this?"

Anna pinches the glass vial between her fingers, turning it over in front of her nose.

"It's a stim." Seeing her confusion, he laughs. "It's medicine. Makes you heal faster. Come on, it'll help your ankle."

The stuff in the vial doesn't look like it belongs inside her body at all. She jabs the small needle into her leg with a grimace. A burning sensation spreads from the point of puncture, as if her veins are being filled with molten lead. Her hands clench as she feels her swollen ankle flash white-hot for a brief moment. Then it's over, the pain replaced with a cooling sensation as the raised lump sinks back into her skin.

She hands the empty canister back to Cal with a grateful smile.

"Thanks… thanks for that."

She stuffs her helmet on as quickly as possible, doing her best to ignore how her heart suddenly feels a size too big. Pulling her threadbare hood over her head, she steps down the ramp. The air is humid and the downpour drenches through her layers of clothing in seconds. Taking one last look over her shoulder, she finds Cal still standing in the doorway, his red hair blowing wildly in the wind. His hand raises in a little goodbye wave that she can't help but return.

With a small sigh, she turns and breaks into a run toward the looming spires of the city.

The hard part is over. She's off Sriluur and off the ship, with all her limbs intact to boot. Now, the plan is the same as always—lay low, reset, find a way to pocket enough credits to hop to the next world. She's never been to Sakiya before, but that's not a problem. Being able to fend for yourself in strange places is at the very top of the list of skills required to survive as an orphan, and she's been at this for a long time.

Too long.

Rinse, repeat. Survive. It's all she's ever done. All things considered, she's fared pretty well for an amnesiac eighteen-something-year-old girl with no family or friends to speak of—but this can't be all there is to life.

She sighs again, wiping rivulets of rain from her visor. She wishes so much that she remembered something, _anything _about her parents. At least then she'd have some kind of explanation of her rotten lot in life…

She shakes her head, struggling to brush her frustrations aside. Now is not the time. Unfortunately, the effort only gives her thoughts room to drift in the direction of a certain redheaded man.

The crew of the _Mantis _seemed unremarkable enough at first glance, but she can't shake the feeling that something's different about them. It's a good different.

They said they're bounty hunters, but she's met her fair share of bounty hunters. Even if they did happen to share a common enemy with her, bounty hunters wouldn't have cooked her nerf steak or given her medicine for her twisted ankle. But these people did. She's so used to everyone she meets treating her like gutter trash, a waste of space, a pest to be cleared off with a broom—but, while this crew seemed just as eager as the rest to have her off their ship, somehow they didn't seem to see her that way.

Cal certainly didn't. Every time he looked at her aboard that yacht, it was like he truly saw her. Not Anna the stowaway or Anna the liability, but just a person like any other. She liked that. She already misses it.

Her life must really be a sad and lonely mess.

Then she's reminded why wallowing in self-pity is so high on her list of no-no's.

She doesn't notice the soldiers standing in the street until she runs into one—literally. Squealing sharply in surprise, she tries to jerk back, but the man catches her shoulder in an iron grip. Wet footsteps sound around her as more soldiers clad in the same frowning helmets and enamel-white plate armour step into view behind the first, each wielding a long military-issue blaster rifle.

Stormtroopers. Her heartbeat accelerates. What's the Empire doing in Hutt space? She beats on the arm holding her and immediately feels the butt of a rifle strike her in the back of the knees, sending her roughly to the street.

"Hey, let me go! I didn't do anything!" she protests. Lifting her head, she gulps as she stares down the ends of three glistening blaster barrels.

"Don't move! Hands behind your head!" commands the trooper who grabbed her. Unlike the others, his right shoulder is covered by a wide orange cap. He must be a higher rank. "Take off the helmet."

Anna's about to explain how she can't comply unless she moves her hands, but the order isn't for her. One of the other stormtroopers steps forward and roughly tears her hood back before yanking the helmet from her head.

"Give that back, I paid good credits for that!" she protests loudly.

"_Is this one of them?"_

The voice comes from behind. It's different from the stormtrooper's, deeper, more heavily filtered. Anna wants to turn and catch a glimpse of its owner, but her fear tells her to hold still.

"Yes, sir. We tracked her from the ship," the lead trooper answers.

"_Good. Bring her back for questioning."_

The lead trooper makes a gesture and two others move to hoist Anna from the ground by the armpits. As she's frog-marched down the road, she glimpses the angular silhouette of an Imperial shuttle landed in the distance through the curtains of rain.

She squirms in the soldiers' vice-like grasp.

"What do you want with me? I don't know anything!"

"That's what they all say… at first," the trooper on her left chuckles darkly.

Anna doesn't like the sound of that at all. Panic rising in her chest, she struggles with all her might—and breaks free. Confused, she whips her head left and right to find the troopers raising their blasters at something in front of her.

"Looking for me?"

That voice is familiar.

She squints through the rain and there, fifty meters down the street, stands none other than Cal Kestis—currently facing down the entire squad of armed Imperial Stormtroopers with nothing but a sopping-wet poncho.

"Cal, no!" Anna cries out in panic. "What are you-"

In a single smooth motion, Cal sweeps back the folds of his raincoat and retrieves a rod-shaped something from his hip. He twirls the rod in his hand, holding it out in front of him. Suddenly, his chest and face are bathed in pale light as a glowing blade of green plasma extends from the device. Her jaw drops.

That's a lightsaber.

The troopers flanking her open fire. Instinctively, she cowers and covers her ears from the blasters' screams, watching in horror as the blazing red bolts fly straight at the man who is trying to save her life. Cal swings his blade impossibly fast, cutting downward in a sweeping arc. The soldier on her right is blasted off his feet, a smoking burn mark scored into his chestplate. He lies motionless where he lands on the street.

Anna has no idea what just happened, but she's _definitely_ not being put into that troop transport if she can help it. Drawing her pistol from its holster, she pivots and blasts the other trooper straight in the knee. The man's yell of agony comes garbled through his helmet as he collapses to the ground.

The hum of Cal's lightsaber grows louder as he dashes toward her.

"Anna, get behind me!" he shouts frantically.

Anna hears orders being barked between the soldiers behind her. Whirling around, she finds three stormtroopers leveling their blasters at her. Their armour gleams red as they fire, bathing the drenched pavement around them in blazing light. Abruptly, she's free falling, but _backward_, yanked off her feet as the lasers lance through the air, coming dangerously close to her chest.

Then she's on her back, struggling for breath from the impact with the ground. Cal is between her and the soldiers now, his blade held diagonally in a defensive stance. Time seems to slow as he stares down the stormtroopers. Peering through the space between his legs, Anna sees another figure push forward to stand in front of the soldiers, one clad in pitch black armour emblazoned with the Imperial crest. A glowing red slit of a visor glares out from the helmet like a single angry eye.

"_Get the girl. I'll deal with this myself."_

The black trooper pulls twin daggers from his belt, twirling them tauntingly before angling them toward Cal. The blades crackle with leaping electricity.

Scrambling to her feet, Anna points her blaster at the closest stormtrooper with gritted teeth. She really doesn't want to be here right now, but there's no way she's going to let Cal kill himself rescuing her.

As if he heard her exact thought, Cal glances back at her and grimaces.

Several things happen in quick succession.

Cal _throws_ his lightsaber at the orange-shouldered trooper, slicing a molten gash clean across the chest. The man's body doesn't even hit the ground before Cal thrusts his other hand toward another stormtrooper. Anna watches, mouth agape, as the man is blasted off his feet by an invisible force, slamming into a second-storey window of a nearby building with a sickening crunch.

Then the black-clad trooper is upon Cal. The redheaded man leaps nimbly backward as the twin daggers scythe through the air, narrowly avoiding being cut to ribbons. Cal holds out his hand and the lightsaber hilt flies back to him, reigniting in his grip just in time to catch the next flurry of blows.

"_You think that means anything?" _The black trooper laughs maniacally as he advances, slashing his daggers in an electric blur. "_I don't need backup to kill you!"_

A shot flies so close to Anna's face it sears a lock of her hair. Diving to the slick ground, she curses—she forgot about the last stormtrooper. Another bolt streaks overhead. Bringing up her pistol, she fires four times blindly in the direction of the shot. There's a muffled scream. No more bolts come.

Pushing herself shakily to her feet, Anna looks up in time to see Cal sever his opponent's hands with a lightning upward sweep. He turns his back to the trooper as he carries the momentum of the swing fluidly over his head and into a backward thrust. A final wheeze emanates from the black trooper's helmet as his body goes limp, impaled on Cal's green blade.

The hiss of the extinguishing lightsaber shakes Anna out of her stupor. The trooper's body slumps to the ground, his black armour a stark contrast to the other, white-clad bodies strewn around him on the street.

There are so many bodies.

She stares at Cal, chest heaving with hysteria. Her blaster falls from numb fingers as her blood pounds in her ears. She manages three words.

"Who are you?"


	4. The Dream

**The Dream**

The lightsaber sits between them, a rod of worn grey metal the length of her forearm, lit from below by the muted white surface of the table. Up close, she can clearly see the countless scratches marring the forked business end of the device, the mismatched switches, the beaten-up rubber grip padding its length. Towards the other end, frayed wires poke from the seam beneath a roughly-welded sleeve that looks like it once served as a section of drainage piping.

It's a rather sad-looking thing, really. Nothing at all like how she imagined a weapon of legend would look. Then again, the redheaded man sitting across from her doesn't _look_ like a treasonist, either.

"Hey, I'm sorry. For what happened down there."

Anna glances up at Cal's words. They haven't said anything to each other since their sprint back to the _Mantis_. Greez gave her the stink eye when she came back on board, but Cal's urgent cry of "the Empire is here!" had the Latero dashing hurriedly for the pilot's seat without further comment. It was only after the yacht slipped back into hyperspace that anyone dared start breathing again.

She must have been ogling the lightsaber still clutched in Cal's hand, because he set the weapon down as if it were red-hot the instant he followed her gaze. Now the weapon sits between them, rocking gently with the motion of the ship. Cal sits opposite her on the L-shaped couch, leaning forward with his hands folded on the table.

"What do you want from me?" Anna asks flatly.

Cal's eyebrows raise in surprise.

"I don't want anything from you, Anna," he says quietly.

She shakes her head.

"I'm not stupid. You risked your life to stop me from being captured by those stormtroopers. Why do you care? You must need me for _something._ What is it?"

"Anna, I…" Cal sighs. "I couldn't just let them take you. They would have tortured you. To get information about _me_. I couldn't live with that."

"Why?" Anna jerks a hand at the lightsaber. "You're a criminal anyway. Aren't you plotting to overthrow the Emperor and take over the galaxy?"

Cal's eyes narrow and a small shiver of fear runs up her spine. This man just cut down five stormtroopers without batting an eye. She shouldn't forget he can kill her faster than she can blink.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

It's not that she has any love for the Empire. The Imperials are tyrants and murderers. They kidnap orphans to fill the ranks of their stormtrooper army and raze villages to the ground for refusing to fly the Imperial crest. But, despite all the stories people have told her about a better life before the Empire, life under it is all she's ever known. The Empire is a familiar evil.

She has no idea what Cal is.

She's heard those stories, too, of course. Everyone has. The propaganda vids never shut up about the treasonous "Jedi Order" and how they staged a coup against the government in a plot to seize absolute power for themselves. Outside of high-profile bounties, however, nobody ever actually talks about them—nobody wants to be put on an Imperial watch-list.

"I know what you must think of me," Cal begins slowly, "but trust me, I'm not going to hurt you. You're free to go whenever you want, wherever you want. You're not a hostage on this ship."

Only then does the enormity of the situation truly hit her. She's sharing a lounge table with one of the most wanted fugitives in the galaxy. This isn't any single crime syndicate out for her head; the _Galactic Empire_ is after her now.

What has she gotten herself into?

"The stormtroopers, they were talking about tracking me from this ship," she whispers. Her breath quickens as panic begins to set in. "They were tracking me! What am I going to do? They think I'm with you! My face is probably being put on bounties across the galaxy as we speak!" The panic sharpens to anger, burning away her fear. "This is _your_ fault! If you hadn't followed that stupid transmission—if you'd just _told_ me you're a Jedi, I wouldn't be here, and the Empire wouldn't be looking to stuff me into a steel box and ship me off to a torture chamber!"

She doesn't realize she's yelling until she runs out of air. Pausing to catch her breath, she glares daggers at Cal's maddeningly calm face. Her gaze flicks over to the weapon lying between them, the telltale mark of a traitor known throughout the galaxy, and suddenly she hates it with a vehemence that cannot be contained. With a scream of frustration, she bursts to her feet and snatches the lightsaber off the table.

"I'm not a part of your stupid Order! I don't even know how to _spell_ 'Jedi'!"

She throws the weapon at the opposite end of the cabin with all her might. It ricochets off the durasteel wall, spinning end over end before falling to the floor with a metallic clang.

Cal doesn't move. He takes a long breath, staring down into his lap.

"I'm sorry, Anna. I really am. This is my fault."

The guilt in his words cuts through her rage. Her eyes begin to sting as she stands with her hands clenched into trembling fists. Slumping back onto the cushions, she screws her eyes shut before tears can escape.

"What am I gonna do?" Her voice is hoarse.

She feels a gentle hand on her arm.

"I'll help you out of this mess. Trust me."

Opening her eyes, Anna finds Cal looking back with that same expression of gentle sympathy as he'd given her when they first met. The panic subsides just a little more. She wipes futilely at the moisture blurring her vision with a rain-soaked sleeve.

"Where are we going now?"

Cal lets out a breath, seeming relieved that she isn't throwing anything else.

"The Empire knows we were on Sakiya. Hutt space isn't safe anymore." Cal's mouth twists in a humourless smile. "But there's at least one place I know the Empire isn't. Dathomir."

Cal sticks his hand out beside him and his lightsaber zips from where it landed on the floor back into his palm. Rising, he clips the weapon to a loop on his belt.

"We've got a spare room in the back, you can sleep there. You must be exhausted." When he sees Anna begin to protest, Cal raises his hand. "I'll explain everything once we land. Any questions you have. I promise."

Anna glares back from the couch with her arms folded stubbornly, but when Cal begins to walk away she stands and follows, grimacing as her sodden pants stick to her legs. They walk into the same hallway she ventured down when she first snuck on board. Cal presses a few buttons on the panel set into the wall and one of the doors lining the corridor slides open with a quiet whirr. He gestures to the open doorway and she stoops inside cautiously.

The quarters consist of a plain white bed, a nightstand, a small dresser, and a large metal walk-in closet. The walls are matte grey steel and the floor is carpeted with brown synthetic rubber. It's the nicest space she's had the chance to stay in in years.

"The shower's in the closet-looking thing." So that's what that is. "I'm trying to fix the filtration system, but for now try not to use it for more than ten minutes at a time or it might start reusing your shower water." Cal coughs embarrassedly.

Anna can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She hasn't even seen a shower in weeks.

"I'm sure I'll manage." She pauses. "Thank you," she adds in a quieter voice.

"It's the least we can do." Cal pauses in the doorway with a distracted look. "Oh, one other thing. The clothes in the dresser, you can have them. They… should fit pretty well."

With a final sideways glance, he walks back in the direction of the cockpit, leaving the bedroom door open.

Anna stands there, struggling to process everything. The events of the past day have probably ruined her life for the foreseeable future, but it's hard to hold onto her anger when here she is, with a whole room to herself for the first time in never. Turning back to the door, she tests the square button on the doorframe with a curious finger, jumping when the door slides shut much faster than she expects.

She opens and closes the door a couple more times for good measure.

The water dripping from her sodden clothes has formed a small puddle at her feet. She slips off her cloak and undoes the thin strap of her holster, placing the blaster carefully down on the nightstand. Reaching into the inner pocket of the cloak, she retrieves the form of a tiny cloth doll, breathing a small sigh of relief when she sees the little button-eyes still intact. Laying it down beside her blaster, she peels off the rest of her clothing, leaving them in a wet pile by the entrance.

She makes a beeline for the shower.

Opening the thin metal door, she finds the interior simple but surprisingly spacious. Pleasantly warm water dribbles in a wide stream from the showerhead at the press of a button. She lets the falling water wash the grime off of her skin as she absently works to untangle her hair.

This whole situation is crazy. Taking a shower in her own room on a yacht crewed by the most dangerous people on this side of the known universe—you can't even make this stuff up.

She wants nothing more than to bask in the luxurious feeling of clean water flowing down her body for hours, but she shuts off the showerhead with Cal's warning nagging in her memory. There's no towel in the closet, but the walls flash red at the press of a button labeled with wavy lines, embracing her with a gust of heat that quickly evaporates the water from her skin and hair.

She could get used to this.

She steps out of the shower to find her clothes just as gross as she left them. She's about to stick them in the shower closet to try the fancy blast-dryer on them when she remembers what Cal said about the clothes in the dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, she finds neatly-folded bedclothes next to a long coat of pale, tanned leather. The bottom drawer yields canvas travel pants and a set of knee-high boots. She grins at the prospect of sleeping in laundered clothes, but a faint sense of unease tickles the back of her mind.

Who do these belong to? Not to the woman named Cere, surely—unless this is _her _room. But no, Cal said the room was a spare…

The creamy mattress beckons invitingly from its cozy-looking slot in the opposite wall. Her legs nearly give out right then and there as the full weight of the day's exhaustion crashes into her.

On second thought, the answers to her questions can definitely wait.

Fumbling her way into the soft bedclothes, she finds they fit her just like Cal said they would. The fabric smells faintly of some exotic minty herb, sharp and sweet at once. The bed is infinitely more comfortable than any of the floors and bunks she's so used to curling up on. Groaning contentedly, she feels all her tension drain away as her body melts into the mattress.

As she drifts into sleep's warm embrace, unbidden images of black stormtroopers and green lightsabers paint themselves across the dark canvas behind her eyelids.

* * *

_She's running._

_It's dark. The air is filled with dust and smoke. She can't see. She can't breathe. There's something on the ground. She trips, catching herself with the pudgy hands of a toddler._

_It's a man, dressed in fine red robes, staring up at her with unblinking eyes. She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes urgently._

"_Get up, sir. Papa says we have to run!"_

_The man doesn't respond. She notices the ragged hole gaping from his chest. She screams._

_Explosions flash around her, throwing chips of cobblestone that cut her skin through her thin clothes. She crawls, trying to find shelter from the red beams of death screaming out of the darkness. The rubble is painfully sharp on her hands and knees but she keeps going. She can't stop. She has to keep running._

_A blast of hot wind tousels her short braids. The smoke is blown clear in front of her, revealing a rectangular vehicle with long, folding wings hovering at the center of the ruined courtyard. A wide ramp on the bottom of its hull opens and soldiers in white armour pour out. Two of them see her and raise their weapons._

_A bellow of rage cuts through the noise of the ship's thrusters. A man charges toward the soldiers, blond hair matted with dirt and blood. He brandishes a sword of gleaming silver in his hands, white lightning crackling down the blade as he cleaves the first soldier from shoulder to hip, carrying the momentum of the swing into a savage thrust that impales the second. The ship takes to the air as the other soldiers open fire in a hail of scarlet beams. The man throws his hand out and the projectiles meet an invisible barrier, detonating in mid-air._

_Strong hands hoist her beneath her arms from behind. She's lifted off her feet and pulled over her rescuer's shoulder, her chin coming to rest on the silky fabric of a maroon scarf. At the centre of the courtyard, the air shimmers as the man swings his sword in a wide arc in front of him. Her ears pop as the white soldiers are blasted off their feet by hurricane winds._

_For an instant, the smoke clears, and she catches a fleeting glimpse of the sky through the suffocating black fog. The flagpole still stands, but the Crocus is burning._

"_Iduna! We can't stay here!" The man has turned to face in her direction. Blood streams from a long gash across his cheek. His face is familiar. "Take her, take her far away. I'll hold them off."_

_She feels the shoulder tremble under her chin. The arms holding her tighten their grip._

"_Be strong, my sunbeam." The man is crying now, his tears carving trails down his soot-stained face. "I love you."_

_Something cuts through the gloom behind the man—a long, red blade, flickering with searing heat. A faceless shadow with a billowing cape strides through the smoke. The man turns to face it, raising his own sword defiantly as the crimson blade comes screeching down._

"_Papa!"_ she screams.

Anna bolts upright and slams her forehead straight into the low cubby ceiling. Hard. A shrill robotic trill accompanies her own squeal of pain. Cracking her eyes open, she finds BD-1 watching her meekly from the foot of the bed, its legs tucked under it in a little ball. The lighting strips in the walls flicker briefly before they hum back to life.

Wait, what's BD-1 doing in her bedroom?

"He wanted to check if you were okay."

Anna starts at the sound of Cal's voice, almost knocking into the ceiling a second time. The redheaded man is standing in the open doorway.

"Were you watching me sleep?" she yelps, narrowing her eyes and scooting back on the bed.

"What? No!" Cal's indignant expression is quickly replaced by one of concern. "I heard you crying."

Anna wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. It comes away wet.

"Are you alright?" Cal takes two steps toward her. "You were screaming, Anna. For your father."

Anna stares at the glistening moisture on her hand in a daze. The dream flashes on repeat behind her eyes like a broken holovid. She's never had one so vivid before.

She's never seen her father's face before.

"I… I had a nightmare." The sound of the glowing blade—the _lightsaber—_rings in her ears, and she hugs her knees tightly to her chest. "I think I saw my father die," she says in a tiny voice.

"That's… terrible. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"No, you don't understand." Swallowing the lump in her throat, she dangles her legs off the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor as she tries to calm her breathing. "I don't remember my father. I don't remember ever having a home, or anyone taking care of me. I don't remember _anything_."

"What do you mean?" Cal's brow furrows. "You must have been raised by someone."

Anna shakes her head. She hesitates, instinctively stopping herself before she says any more—but what's the point of hiding the truth now? She raises her eyes to meet Cal's.

"I remember waking up on a freighter with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and that doll." She points to the nightstand. "I didn't remember anything except that my name was 'Anna'. I don't even know my real last name—I made up 'Arrel'. I must have been five, six. That's my best guess anyway, I don't know my birthday."

Cal is silent for a while. She watches the furrow in his brow deepen as he keeps looking at her. Abruptly, he walks over to the nightstand, regarding the doll with a strange expression.

"May I?" he asks, reaching toward it.

Anna gives a small nod. There's something reverent about the way Cal picks up the doll, as if he's handling a precious artifact. Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply, holding the doll in front of him. When he opens his eyes again, Cal looks confused—and worried.

"What did you do to my doll?" Anna asks suspiciously.

Cal gently sets the doll back down. When he meets her gaze again, there's a frightening intensity in his deep green eyes.

"Meet me outside. We need to talk."

The redheaded man walks out of the room with BD-1 trundling along after him. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving Anna alone with her thoughts.

What just happened?

She hops off the bed, combing back her unruly bedhead into some semblance of order as she moves to retrieve her garments from the floor. She changes quickly, shivering at the faint dampness still lingering in her travel clothes. Slinging the holster strap around her torso with practiced ease, she twirls her blaster before slotting it in. She finds her cloak still heavy with water, so she pulls open the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out the leather coat. Like the bedclothes, it fits her well.

Yeah, Cal sure has some explaining to do.

Pushing the button to open the door, she grabs her doll and steps back out into the hallway. Without the whine of the hyperdrive, her boots echo sharply off the steel floor. Cere and Greez glance up from a card game at the dining table as she walks into the cabin. She feels their eyes follow her as she steps out onto the extended exit ramp.

The first thing she notices when she emerges from the ship is how _red_ everything is—the dim sun hanging above the horizon, the cracked stony ground, the vine-encrusted cliffs jutting in the distance, even the thin clouds stretching across the sky. The second thing she notices is Cal's silhouette at the edge of the plateau, gazing out at the craggy landscape below with his back facing her.

Her feet stop. This is a dangerous fugitive with a galaxy's worth of soldiers and bounty hunters out for his head. By all rights, she should be running the other way as fast as her feet can take her.

But for some crazy reason, this murderous fugitive is also the only one in a galaxy's worth of people who's genuinely cared for her in memorable history.

She steps up beside him and clears her throat.

"So, what was that about back there?"

Cal keeps staring into the distance. The sun is reflected in his eyes, tinging them as red as the sky.

"What do you know about the Force?" he asks slowly.

"That magic power you use to throw people around?"

Cal raises an eyebrow at her and chuckles.

"Yeah. Sort of. Except it's not magic, and everyone has it. The Force is this… energy field that all living things share. The Jedi were trained to tap into its power, but they weren't—_aren't_ the only ones who can use it."

"Are you a Jedi?"

She doesn't know why she even bothers asking after everything she's already seen him do. Throwing stormtroopers two storeys into the air without touching them is certainly no ordinary feat. Nonetheless, she wants to hear Cal say it. Saying it out loud makes it real.

"Yes. If there is such a thing as a Jedi anymore." Cal's mouth draws to a hard line. "I was a Padawan—a Jedi in training—when the Republic fell. Our own allies turned on us in the blink of an eye. My Master died saving me and I've lived in hiding ever since."

He pauses, his face taut with sorrow. Anna waits for him to continue with bated breath.

"I can sense the past through the Force. It's something I was born with, I think. Whenever I touch something—a relic or an ancient inscription—I catch glimpses of its history."

Anna's eyes become wide as moons.

"What did you see when you touched this?" She holds up her doll, suddenly breathless.

The worried expression returns to Cal's weathered features.

"Nothing. And not just nothing, a distinct _absence_ of something. Like its past has somehow been purged from the Force. Your past."

Anna's heart skips a beat.

"Are you saying my memories were _purged?_" She makes air quotes around the word, hoping they'll protect her from its terrible implications.

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a coincidence that you had that dream here." Cal glances darkly to the horizon. "Dathomir is a place of power. The Dark Side of the Force is strong here. I think you feel it too." His eyes bore into hers. "I think you know more about the Force than you're letting on."

"What? What are you saying?" Anna laughs incredulously. "Trust me, if I could throw people into buildings just by waving at them, my life would be a whole lot easier."

"No, it wouldn't," Cal says grimly. "The Empire hunts Force-sensitives mercilessly, so nobody can challenge the Emperor's rule. Any sign of Force abilities is practically a death sentence now." His voice lowers. " But just because you haven't used the Force before doesn't mean you can't. I felt something when you woke up back there. A pressure."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

Cal is silent for a few breaths.

"I think you _are_ Force-sensitive, Anna, but your connection to the Force has been… suppressed, somehow."

Anna knits her eyebrows together, her excitement building. Could it be true? Could all the mysteries of her past be linked to the Force—whatever it is?

"Could this have anything to do with my missing memories?"

Cal runs a hand through his hair.

"It's possible. Maybe you were a Youngling and your Master was trying to protect you. I've never heard of the Force being used to remove memories, though… but I'm hardly an expert. Cere might know more."

"Is Cere a Jedi, too?"

"She used to be," Cal answers with a nod.

"Used to?"

"Yeah. She doesn't use the Force anymore."

They're silent for a while. Anna gazes out beneath the rising sun. Patches of serpentine vines bristling with thorns like razor wire splotch the landscape. A faint animal roar reaches her ears and her searching eyes find the form of a massive two-legged beast moving in a valley far, far below.

"One more question," she blurts.

"Don't make promises you can't keep." There's a teasing note to Cal's voice.

"Whose clothes am I wearing?"

The Jedi's smile immediately falls from his face. He exhales slowly through his nose.

"Her name was Merrin. She was a Nightsister. She used the Force, too, but her powers were different, unlocked through rituals that I don't understand. I… we fought side by side for years."

"What happened to her?" Anna asks carefully.

Cal turns his back to the cliff. From the sorrowful light in his eyes, she dreads his answer.

"We had a disagreement. She wanted to bring down the Empire, so Force-sensitives would no longer have to live in fear. I believed in it too, at the beginning. But her methods were too risky, too direct." His shoulders are slumped now, his face etched with guilt. "I tried to convince her to take a step back, but she wouldn't listen. She went out on a scouting mission deep into Imperial territory on her own. We waited for weeks… but she never came back."

A dull pain flares in Anna's chest at the hollowness in Cal's voice.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Cal shakes himself, flashing her a feeble smile. He reaches out and pats her on the shoulder.

"Come on, let's go see what Greez is cooking."

* * *

**For the Fallen Order peeps: This is not the last you've seen of our favourite Nightsister ;)**


	5. Beware the Frozen Heart

**Beware the Frozen Heart**

The thick bandages enrobing his knee do little to dull the searing pain of the blaster wound beneath them. The knee joint of his leg armour is missing entirely—popped right off when the blaster bolt hit. And command insists these plastoid suits are still state-of-the-art. What a joke.

He curses the girl, curses her damned cloak for concealing the blaster. If she'd just aimed a little higher, she might have gotten him for good.

The other stormtroopers sit in rows around him, strapped tightly into the bare-metal barracks, the clack of their armour plates echoing every jolt of the hull. Despite his best efforts, his eyes are drawn to the empty seats—seats that were occupied when they first arrived on Sakiya.

The angry hum of the Jedi's lightsaber echoes in his ears. He shudders. Today really isn't his day.

The opaque grey walls of the transport shuttle begin to rattle, a sense of vertigo tickling his spine as he feels the ship decelerate. They must be coming up on the star destroyer now. Tensing his shoulders, he steels himself as he hears the whine of the extending landing gear. The floor lurches as the shuttle touches down.

The other stormtroopers unclip their harnesses in unison, standing stiffly at attention as the egress ramp shudders open. As he struggles with the straps on his own harness, he's struck roughly on the shoulder from behind. He staggers, barely avoiding being knocked clean to the floor.

"_On your feet, TK-6325,"_ a gravelly voice orders.

Finally slipping out of his harness, he props himself up on his rifle like it's a cane. His breath quickens as the black-clad Purge Trooper strides past him. A sigh of relief slips past his lips when the man takes no further notice of him. Limping into line with the rest of the troopers, he grits his teeth against the piercing ache in his leg.

"_Line up outside for inspection," _the Purge Trooper orders before turning and striding out of the shuttle.

The stormtroopers begin to file down the ramp in two parallel lines. Sweat fogs the eyepieces of TK-6325's visor as he stumbles down the steep incline, doing his best to balance his weight on his good leg. He can see the silhouette of the awaiting superior officer reflected off the polished black floor of the hangar ahead.

The mud-stained enamel boots of the trooper in front of him come to a halt. He straightens up as much as possible, leaning heavily on his blaster rifle as he tries to catch his breath.

Only then does he realize, that's no ordinary officer.

A woman stands facing them at the head of the line of stormtroopers, flanked by two more Purge Troopers wielding gleaming marksman rifles. She's clad in a tight-fitting uniform of heavy matte fabric, complete with two black capes that extend down from beneath each of the wide epaulettes covering her shoulders. Her face is concealed behind an angular mask of dark, mirror-polished metal ending at her forehead, her white-blonde hair sweeping over the left side of her uniform in a thick braid.

He doesn't need to read the plaque beneath it to know who this woman is. The semi-circular lightsaber hilt at her belt is more than enough clarification.

"This is all that's left?"

The Inquisitor's voice is surprisingly delicate, even through the granular chorus of the mask's voice modulator.

"_Yes, Twelfth Sister,"_ the original Purge Trooper states curtly. "_We were able to neutralize the Force-sensitive child."_

"Yet I see you were unable to apprehend the Jedi."

The woman's tone is polite, almost conversational, but the words make the hairs on TK-6325's neck stand up. The narrow slit of the Inquisitor's visor sweeps across the assembled troops, finally coming to land squarely on him. He swallows nervously under his helmet.

The Inquisitor walks forward until she's barely two paces away from him. Her mask tilts down to regard his bandaged leg.

"You're injured."

He's too terrified to even breathe. His arm trembles over the stock of his blaster-cane as he fights to keep his posture straight. The Inquisitor takes another step closer.

"Did the Jedi do this to you?" Her voice is soft, almost sympathetic.

"No… no, I was shot. By the Jedi's accomplice."

"Accomplice?" The Inquisitor gives a quizzical tilt of her head. "Who was this accomplice?"

"A girl, some street rat, by the look of her."

"Is that so?"

The Inquisitor regards him for a moment longer before pivoting and striding back to the center of the floor between the parallel lines of stormtroopers.

"Is this the best the Empire has to offer?" she intones coldly. "A full platoon of trained soldiers, bested by a street rat?"

For several long seconds, nobody says a word. Then, a voice speaks out, hushed and hurried.

"I don't think that's a fair assessment, ma'am."

It's as if everyone in the hangar stops breathing.

The Inquisitor's head twitches in the direction of the voice with lightning speed. One of the stormtroopers toward the end of the line opposite TK-6325 shifts nervously. The Inquisitor walks slowly down the column until she is face to face with the trooper who spoke.

"Trooper, what is your operating number?"

"TK-3571, ma'am."

"TK-3571. Please, explain the error in my assessment."

The stormtrooper trembles visibly.

"Well… it wasn't the girl that we couldn't handle. It was the Jedi. We're just no match for him! Our blasters can't touch him, our grenades he throws right back at us. Maybe it's time _you_ joined the fight instead of sending us out to die… ma'am."

As the stormtrooper speaks, the Inquisitor pulls the gloves off of her hands with slow, purposeful motions. When TK-3571 finishes, she tilts her head at him, her gloves held draped in the palm of her right hand.

"Is that so." For the first time, there is undeniable malice behind the Inquisitor's words.

The next breath that TK-3571 takes plumes in the air. The Inquisitor closes the distance between them with one final step, touching her pale, slender fingers to the stormtrooper's chest.

For an instant, the only sound in the hangar is the TK-3571's panicked breathing. Then, he crumples to his knees and lets out a blood-curdling scream. It's a ragged cry of pure agony, echoing sharply off the distant walls of the hangar. The stormtrooper grabs uselessly at his chest plate as veins of frost blossom outward from the point of contact with the soft crackle of freezing ice.

"Your ignorance insults me," the Inquisitor states flatly.

As she pulls back her arm, the cape hanging from her left shoulder sweeps aside, briefly revealing the hilts of three more lightsabers strapped to her uniform above the waist.

Trophies.

"Tell me, soldier. How many Jedi have you killed?"

At her feet, TK-3571's struggles slow as his cries cut off in choked gurgles. Soon, he stops moving altogether. Slipping her gloves back on with ginger care, the Inquisitor sweeps her gaze over the remaining soldiers.

"Find Cal Kestis. Do not disappoint me again."

With a swish of her capes, she whirls and strides away down the hangar. Her Purge Troopers follow wordlessly, their heavy footsteps fading away in a sharp unison staccato.

TK-6325 watches as the gleaming coat of frost continues to thicken over the other stormtrooper's stiff, kneeling form. His injured leg finally gives out under him and he topples, his blaster clattering to the mirrorlike floor.

None of the other troopers say a thing.


	6. The Flower

**The Flower**

"So. What did Cal say about me?"

Anna stands fidgeting awkwardly with the end of her braid as Cere Junda slowly pivots the seat at the comms station around to face her. The short-haired woman is dressed in simple grey robes under a thin leather vest that reaches just above her waist. Her severe expression has Anna immediately feeling very, very small.

Cere doesn't have to know that, though.

Clearing her throat, Anna straightens her back, trying to get her face to match Cere's stern expression.

"Ahem. Cal said you might know about my missing memories." Her voice cracks slightly, and she resists the urge to wince. "He said you used to be a Jedi."

Cere raises an eyebrow.

"Did he tell you why I stopped?"

Anna shakes her head.

Cere nods, but offers nothing further on the subject. Instead, she leans forward with her hands on her knees, her expression softening as she holds Anna's gaze.

"Why don't you tell me about these missing memories of yours?"

A large part of Anna wishes Cal was here to explain things to Cere. Something about the older woman screams that her bad side is wicked dangerous. Unfortunately, Cal is off making repairs to his lightsaber—probably thanks to Anna's theatrics yesterday. Oops.

"Honestly, I don't know that much about it," she begins hesitantly, brushing stray strands of hair behind her ear. "I don't remember my parents, or anyone ever taking care of me. I can't remember ever _not_ being on my own, but I know that's impossible—I had to come from somewhere, right? Random orphan babies don't survive long out here."

"Do you remember anything at all from before?" A crease forms in Cere's brow.

"I remember my name," Anna answers hesitantly. "Also, Sir Jorgenbjorgen was with me when I first woke up." She holds up the finger-sized doll. "I named him after, though. He probably had a different name before."

The corners of Cere's eyes crinkle with amusement, softening her expression further..

"I do remember other things sometimes… although I don't know if _remember_ is the right word. I get these dreams. Nightmares, mostly. I never remember much of what actually happens, but there's usually fire and screaming."

Anna swallows, feeling her face fall as the scenes from last night's dream replay in her mind.

"I remember the dream I had last night very clearly, though. There were stormtroopers. I think I saw my father. He was attacked by someone in all black with a red lightsaber."

Immediately, the colour seems to drain from Cere's face.

"How old are you, Anna?" she asks abruptly, her voice suddenly strained.

"Eighteen? Nineteen? I don't know my birthday, but that's-"

"How far back can you _remember?_" Cere interrupts.

"Thirteen years or so?" The sudden intensity in the woman's expression is making Anna uneasy. "Why?"

Cere takes a deep breath before she speaks.

"BD-1, show Anna your footage of Darth Vader."

There's a chorus of chirps and squeaks as the droid trundles from his position on the ship's dash to hop onto the comms station control panel. The smaller of BD-1's ocular sensors begins to flash with a flickering blue light, projecting an image into the air between Anna and Cere. A caped figure appears covered from head to toe in shining black, its face completely encased in a gleaming helmet. A mask with wide eyepieces and a large, triangular respirator glares toward Anna in a frozen expression of terrible malice.

"_You would be wise to surrender,"_ intones a deep, commanding voice through BD-1's audio projectors.

The hum of the red lightsaber cuts through Anna's memory. Chills run down her arms as she continues to stare at the masked man. Without a doubt, this is the dark shadow from her dream.

The hologram fizzles out as BD-1 gives a quick shake of his head. Cere studies Anna's face with searching eyes.

"You saw him, didn't you," she states softly. It isn't a question.

Anna nods numbly. "Who is that?"

Cere's eyes harden.

"The fall of the Galactic Republic fourteen years ago was orchestrated by one of the Senate's chancellors, a Sith Lord in disguise. As part of his plot, this Sith turned one of our finest Jedi Knights to the Dark Side and tasked him with the eradication of all Force users who could stand against the Sith. That fallen Jedi's name is Darth Vader."

Cere gestures to the air where the hologram used to be.

"Vader is still out there. He leads the armies of the Empire, subjugating worlds to Imperial rule by terror and force."

The woman's words ricochet within the confines of Anna's skull, their echoes magnifying in volume until she feels like she'll explode from all the new questions she has no answers for.

She paces up and down the narrow strip of cockpit floor. Her home attacked by stormtroopers, her father crossing blades with a fallen Jedi… and not a scrap of it remains in her memory.

"Was my father a Jedi?" she blurts out. As the question leaves her tongue, she feels a thrill of excitement at the possibility.

"Not likely," Cere states. "Except in some extreme circumstances, Jedi abide by an oath of celibacy. Jedi do not become fathers."

Anna can't help her heart from sinking a little. Back to square one.

Cere places a thoughtful hand on her chin.

"What else do you remember from your dream? Were there any landmarks, flags, insignias—anything that could identify where this attack was taking place?"

Explosions flash again behind Anna's eyes. She sees the shrapnel, the blaster fire, the suffocating smoke.

Her eyes widen as she sees the golden flower burning atop a flagpole.

"I remember a flag!" she shouts excitedly. "A flag with a golden flower. It had three petals and some leaves sticking out the bottom."

"Can you reproduce it?"

Cere retrieves a small datapad from the comms station dash and thrusts it into Anna's hands.

Anna stares intently down at the tablet, holding desperately to the image of the flag in her mind. Her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth as she slides her fingers carefully over the gridded blue screen. Her breathing slows as she focuses on the task. She's always loved drawing—in a life of hard floors and tarnished walls, sometimes the only escape to a better one is through her own imagination.

This time, though, the picture forming under her fingers might be something real.

Slowly, the form of the flower takes shape on the screen: three wide petals sprouting up from a narrow stem with two leaves.

"Something like this," she says, handing back the datapad.

Cere raises her eyebrows in approval as she studies the drawing.

"You've got a keen hand there. Let's see if it matches anything in the database."

She swings her seat back around and slots the datapad into a matching port on the control panel, her practiced fingers flying over the keys on the holopad. The terminal fills with columns of green text as a thin white line begins scanning over the symbol drawn on the datapad. Anna bites her lip in anticipation as she watches the line sweep down the petals of the flower.

As the line reaches the bottom of the datapad, the text begins to fade from the terminal chunk by chunk until only a handful of labels remain on screen. Cere leans forward, swiping at the text with her finger.

"Do any of these look like what you saw?"

Anna watches as the boxes of text expand into full articles embedded with unfamiliar images. As she continues to read, the spark of hope in her chest sputters. None of the symbols on display look like the flag from her dream at all.

"What does it mean if you can't find it in the database?" she asks quietly. "Did… did I imagine the whole thing?"

But no, that's just impossible. She _knows_ this was more than a dream, it has to be. She didn't dream up that fallen Jedi.

Cere turns back from the terminal.

"You didn't dream up Darth Vader," she echoes. "Have you ever seen him outside of that dream?"

"No." She certainly wouldn't have forgotten something like that.

"I didn't think so. Not many survive such an encounter." Cere purses her lips tightly. "This is certainly strange. I've been intercepting transmissions from encrypted Imperial lines every year since the Purge and all of them have been aggregated in this database. If this attack truly happened within your lifetime, it was something that even high-ranking officers were kept in the dark about."

"What does that mean?" Anna's heart thumps harder in her chest.

"It means that either you somehow have someone else's memories… or the Empire was trying _really_ hard to keep the events of your dream from ever coming to light. Honestly, I don't know which is more likely at this point. I wish…"

Cere's voice trails off. Then something strange happens. The intrigued light in her dark eyes is replaced by something colder, guarded, aloof. The woman sighs and clears the comms station monitor with the press of a button.

"Either way, the trail's cold. There's nothing else I can do for you. I'm sorry, Anna."

"What?" Anna sputters in shock. "You're just giving up? There has to be a million other databases in the galaxy! Surely at least _one _of them-"

"Anna, believe me, if the Republic were still standing, I would have scoured the entire Jedi Temple archives for you. But there is no Jedi Order anymore. We have no resources, no reinforcements. We're nothing but wanted fugitives now."

Her father's face flashes again, bleeding, tear-stained, and so, _so _close. As she watches Cere's unreadable expression, Anna feels the opportunity slipping from her fingertips.

"So that's it?" Desperation drives her voice higher. "Why even explain all that to me if you weren't going to help me in the first place?"

"I'm sorry, child." Cere's voice is firm. "I'm sorry that we dragged you into this world, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry for giving you hope. But the Empire is all that there is now, do you understand? The only way we can stand against them now is to _survive_." She sighs—a harsh, bitter sound. "I don't know why you can't remember your past, but if I had to guess, someone or something was trying to protect you. You've already escaped Vader once, Anna. Maybe it's best if you let the past go."

Tears of frustration blur Anna's vision.

"How can you say that?" she hisses through trembling lips. "I've lived my whole life wondering what my purpose in this shithole of a galaxy is, and now when I finally have a chance to find out you tell me to just _let it go?_"

"Yes."

There is pain in Cere's eyes, but her gaze is resolute, unwavering. Something breaks inside Anna at the finality in the woman's tone.

"Fine. Guess I'll go back to scrounging in the dirt!"

She storms out of the cockpit, hugging herself tightly as her tears begin to spill over. She doesn't know where she's trying to go, but the ship isn't that big and she inevitably finds herself back in the narrow hallway leading to the crew quarters. Sniffling, she punches random buttons on the keypad, dashing for her bedroom the instant the door to her quarters slides open.

She slams straight into Cal Kestis on his way back from the engine bay.

"Whoa, hey!" Cal's lightsaber clatters from his hands in surprise. "Watch where you're going!"

Anna tries to shoulder past him, but he catches her by the arm.

"Anna, wait, is something wrong?" The concern in Cal's voice falls flat on Anna's ears.

"Let go of me," she growls, jerking her arm out of his grip. Walking stiffly to the bed, she drops herself heavily onto the mattress, burying her face in her hands as she bites back sobs.

A rapid pitter-patter registers in her ears. She feels a weight on her leg as small metal feet press into her thigh. Cracking her eyes open, she finds BD-1's trapezoidal face gazing up at her, his larger eye extending and retracting as he tilts his head this way and that. With a soft series of chirps, the little droid nuzzles up into the crook of her elbow.

"Hi, little guy," Anna whispers.

"Conversation with Cere not go so well?" Cal asks softly. She can see him standing awkwardly in the doorway in her peripheral vision.

"Yeah, you could say that," she mutters, keeping her eyes fixed on BD-1. Her hand moves to stroke one of his antennae. She focuses on the droid's comforting presence, trying to smother the frustration still burning in her chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Anna smears the moisture across her cheeks with her sleeves, wishing the leather of the jacket was better at absorbing water.

"What are you guys?" She glances up at Cal, her jaw clenched. "You said Jedi don't exist anymore, and you're definitely not bounty hunters, so what _are _you, then? What's your purpose?"

Her words must have come out sharper than she intended, because Cal drops his gaze toward the floor.

"We're survivors," he replies after a pause. "We're a crew. We look out for each other. We help others when we can, but our own survival comes first. That's the rule." He looks down at his hands, clipping the lightsaber back onto his belt with much more care than is necessary. "It's been the rule since Merrin… left," he adds in a quieter voice.

This time, the pain in the words manages to cut through Anna's own. Needles of guilt pierce through her anger. How could she have forgotten about Merrin? She's still wearing her coat.

"What's gotten you so upset, anyway?" Cal asks in a harder tone, folding his arms over his chest.

Anna leans forward on the edge of the bed. She doesn't speak for several breaths.

"I learned something about my dream. The man I saw attacking my father, he's someone called Darth Vader. I remembered something else, too, a symbol of a flower. If I can find out more about that symbol, it could lead to the answers behind my missing memories!" She sighs. "But Cere couldn't find the symbol in the database. She said I should let go of the past."

BD-1 trills a short message.

"You still want to find this flower, don't you?" Cal says in a low voice.

"Yes. More than anything." Anna clenches her hands into fists. "I want to know why I was abandoned. I want to know what happened to my parents." Her voice takes on a pleading tone as she raises her gaze to meet his. "You said you would take me wherever I wanted to go, didn't you? Well, wherever I can find out more about that flower, _that's_ where I want to go."

She leaps to her feet.

"Look, all I know is I'm so tired of just _surviving_. Just do this one thing for me, please. After that, I… I'll find a way to pay you off, I promise. I can work in your crew! I'm handy with a slicing kit, I can fix basic circuits, I could even learn to maintain the hyperdrive…"

Her words trail off as Cal continues to regard her silently, her gesticulating hands freezing in mid-air. There's a strange light in the Jedi's eyes as he holds her gaze. The gentle creak of the hull around them as it's battered by Dathomir's winds is the only sound in the room. Just when Anna thinks the silence will suffocate them both, Cal exhales a long breath.

"Alright. I think I need to call a meeting."

* * *

The familiar glow of the lounge table illuminates the assortment of individuals seated around it in a pallid light. The lighting strips lining the walls of the cabin hum softly in the background, drilling into Anna's awareness.

She's not been this tense since she held Cal at gunpoint. Her eyes flit quickly between the solemn faces surrounding her and she fights the urge to draw her knees to her chest. It's the first time she's sat down with all of the _Mantis's_ crew at once, and the fact that they're here to talk about _her_ does nothing to help her nerves. She watches Cal run a hand through his red hair, while on the other side of the table Cere sits still and emotionless as a statue.

Greez clears his throat pointedly.

"So, can we see what this flower thing looks like?"

Wordlessly, Cere drops the datapad onto the table. The white outline of the Crocus shines up from the flickering blue screen, its reflection dancing from three pairs of eyes.

"Hmm, definitely never seen anything like that before," Cal mutters.

"Doesn't match anything on record," Cere states matter-of-factly.

Greez looks back and forth between Cal and Cere, folding his upper arms with a scowl.

"Alright, spit it out. Why are you two glaring at each other like you stole each other's lunch?"

"Because Cal Kestis is being a hypocrite," Cere growls. She turns her shoulders to face the redheaded man directly. "You were the one who said we are to lay low. Avoid detection. _Survive._ Yet your actions have been nothing but reckless of late."

The sudden ire in Cere's normally calm voice has Anna unconsciously moving backward in her seat. Cal, however, leans forward with his hands on his knees, meeting Cere's stare with a steady gaze of his own.

"What was I supposed to do, Cere? You heard that transmission. You were the one who called me over to make the decision, and I chose to _try_."

"No, Cal." Cere shakes her head slowly, deliberately. "You didn't choose to try. You gave up that choice when you destroyed the holocron. _Their destiny should be trusted to the Force_, that's what you said!" She takes a few breaths before continuing in a calmer tone. "We are few. If Merrin's loss has taught us anything, it's that we can't afford to take risks."

"Merrin could still be alive." Cal's voice is quiet. Greez looks down at the floor. Cere stares back in silence. Cal throws his arms in the air. "Cere, neither of us is good at sitting back and doing nothing! You know this."

"We've been doing nothing for three years, Cal!" Cere shouts, her face stretched taut with anger. "We've been chasing rumours from system to system, trying to put out fires as they start. Do you know what our success rate for rescuing Force-sensitives from Imperial death squads is? Because I've been keeping track, and it's _twenty-one percent_. One in five, Cal!" Tears glisten in the former Jedi's eyes. "With the names on that list, we could have saved them. We could have saved them all."

Cal's fists are clenched so hard that Anna can see the white of his knuckles on his ungloved hand. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

"You didn't see what I saw in the Vault, Cere. If we'd used the holocron, we would have condemned every name on that list to a life of torture and darkness."

Anna shoots a panicked glance toward Greez. The Latero gives her a small shrug in response, his wide mouth drawn into a weary line of acceptance. This clearly isn't the first time the captain has heard this particular conversation.

Cere and Cal stare at each other tensely. Finally, Cere slumps back in her seat, the sharpness fading from her eyes.

"We _used_ to have a higher purpose than survival, Cal. But without the holocron, there is none."

"What if _she's_ our higher purpose?"

Wait, what?

Anna jerks her head up in shock, finding Cal gesturing in her direction with an open palm.

"Me?" The word leaves her mouth before she can snap it shut.

"She's Force-sensitive, Cere. I felt it. Her connection to the Force is… severed. Repressed, somehow. But not by her." Cal turns to meet Anna's gaze. "I don't think our meeting was an accident, Anna. I think the Force brought you to us."

Anna blinks. Could her chance encounter with the _Mantis_ really have been because of the Force? _She_ chose to stow away on this yacht, after all, not some mysterious energy field. She peeks at Cere, convinced that she's about to launch a rebuttal, but the other woman remains pensively silent.

"This _is_ about more than just survival now," Cal continues urgently. "Cere, three years ago you dragged me out of a dark place on Bracca. It's time we passed on the favour."

Cere stares back at Cal with an unreadable expression. Anna can't help but shrink from the woman's cold, piercing gaze when she directs it toward her.

"Trust only in the Force," Cal says under his breath. "Remember?"

To Anna's surprise, Cere lowers her chin in the smallest of nods. The other woman takes a deep breath, placing her hands flat on the table as she fixes her eyes on Anna.

"Anna, if you start down this path, there will be no going back. Once you get on the Empire's radar, you _will_ be hunted. I'm going to be honest, I don't think that's a fight _any_ of us can win anymore. But Cal's right. This isn't my choice, it's yours. Choose carefully, child."

Cere's jaw is set in an expression of begrudging acceptance. Anna looks around at the other faces at the table. Cal offers a weak smile, but there's a glimmer of uncertainty in his green eyes. Greez continues to stare at the datapad on the table with his hands at his hips, not meeting anyone's gaze.

She takes a nervous breath.

"You don't have to protect me. I'm not afraid." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but she keeps it steady, resolute. She points toward the datapad. "I've lived my entire life with a hole in my head. I want to find out what happened to my parents. I want to find out who I _am_. And that starts with figuring out what that symbol means."

Cere nods, closing her eyes.

"Very well."

There's a hardness to the woman's voice that sets Anna on edge despite her victory. Cere glances around to the other crew members.

"Where do we begin?"

Greez scratches a scruffy mutton chop with one of his many hands.

"I might know a guy."

* * *

**Thanks for sticking with me this far! In the immortal words of Anakin Skywalker, _this is where the fun begins _;)**


	7. The Friend

**The Friend**

It turns out Greez is actually a pretty decent yacht pilot when he isn't blasting down sketchy hyperlanes.

Steep, sparsely-wooded hills swoop by beyond the cockpit glass as the Latero captain guides the _Mantis _down along a winding valley river. Anna's eyes are open as wide as they can go as she tries to drink in every last detail of the vistas before her, from the soft golden clouds in the sky above to the glimmering crystal waters racing past below. The picturesque scenery is a stark contrast to what was promised by the reddish-tan globe of desert and dust that Cantonica appeared to be from orbit.

The view is largely lost upon the rest of the crew, however.

"I don't like this one bit," Cere mutters from her usual position at the comms station. "This is the opposite of laying low."

"Relax, would ya?" Greez says over his shoulder, gesturing around him with an open hand. "This is the best place to lay low! Everyone knows what happens in Canto Bight stays in Canto Bight. Besides, these all-star luxury hotels certainly don't-"

"We're not here on vacation, Greez," Cere interjects sharply.

In the copilot's seat, Cal punches a couple of buttons on the overhead dash before Greez swats his hand away. The Jedi folds his arms over his chest, turning his seat to face the captain.

"You sure we can trust this guy of yours? There's a lot of credits on our heads."

"I'd trust this guy about as far as I trust my blaster aim," Greez replies with a chuckle, "but ain't nobody else got their fingers stuck deeper in the Empire's messy business than Hans. If anyone knows anything about your friend's flower, it'll be him."

"Won't do us much good if he just sells us out to the Inquisitors."

"Oh, he wouldn't do that." The Latero's wide sideburns wobble as he shakes his head. "Him and the Empire weren't exactly close, last I checked. Besides, he owes me a favour."

"Just promise me I won't end up as _another_ crime lord's 'champion' by the end of all this," Cal grumbles, slumping down in his seat.

Ahead of them, the river valley opens up into a wide aquamarine bay. Large buildings with flat, domed roofs rise from the opposite shore like stacks of metallic mushrooms, gleaming silver and gold under the slanted rays of the afternoon sun. Greez guides the _Mantis _in low over the calm waters. As they draw nearer to the spaceport, the sky grows thick with a myriad of sleek spacecraft plated in matte and chrome. Anna frowns as she watches them pass, each seeming more extravagant than the last.

There can't be anywhere she belongs less than in this city.

"They're requesting identification," Cere says with a hand pressed to her headset. "Don't do anything stupid now, captain."

"What do you take me for?" Greez scoffs. "I know the skylane regulations like the back of my hand."

"Just fly straight. These credentials won't hold up if we get ticketed."

The towering form of the spaceport building looms ahead, blotting out the orb of the sun. Anna swallows nervously as a squadron of agile police airspeeders buzz past below them.

Greez pulls a lever on the dash and the hull shudders around them, motors whining as the ship reconfigures itself into landing mode. A long, rectangular opening appears in the wall of the previously seamless cream monolith before them.

"Clear for landing," Cere says with a sigh of relief.

The lights of the hangar interior bathe the cockpit in muted white as the _Mantis _comes to a rest on the brushed-steel hangar floor. The engines spin down in unison with the hiss of the extending exit ramp.

"Keep your eyes sharp out there," Cere orders sternly. "I'll hold the fort until you get back."

"Stealth mode, boys 'n girls," Greez calls, hopping down from the pilot's seat and pulling a heavy hooded jacket over his stout figure.

Cal slips a respirator of dull orange metal over his face with a soft click before raising the hood on his poncho. BD-1 clambers onto his back, nestling in like a small rectangular knapsack.

Anna ties a bandanna of black cloth over her own mouth and nose. She pulls the tattered edge of her cloak's hood down in front of her eyes, tucking her pigtails out of sight as she draws the cloak tightly over her shoulders. A bummer she lost her helmet—this is probably the one place where the rose gold would have fit right in.

Greez leads them down the ramp and onto the hangar floor. Two skeletal droids with gold-plated bodies and round heads approach the ship, their hands politely folded before them.

"_Sam Prydell, rest assured your Latero Spaceworks S-161 is in good hands during your stay with us."_ The droid's voice is deep and melodious.

"Hey, keep your lasers off my ship, you hear?" Greez barks with a raised finger. "Don't you touch her."

The droids halt in their tracks immediately with sweeping, mechanical bows.

"_As you wish, Mister Prydell. Enjoy your stay in splendiferous Canto Bight."_

"Yeah, yeah…"

Greez brushes past the service droids and strides toward the elevator on the opposite end of the hangar. Anna eyes the droids warily as she hurries to follow. Just how much is the bounty on their heads? Droids need credits too, right? Her fingers twitch toward the pistol holstered under her shawl as she backs into the elevator. Only when the doors close over the droids' emotionless eyes does she allow herself to relax.

"Never liked those things," Greez mutters under his breath as they begin their descent.

BD-1 chirps indignantly from Cal's back.

The elevator slows smoothly to a halt and the doors open with a soft _ding_. Anna gasps at the sight awaiting her.

Spotless streets of polished stone meet the elegantly flowing walls of the buildings framing them, each seeming taller than the last. The streets themselves vy for space against each other, twisting and turning in countless climbing stairways and bridges. The city rises in the distance like the layers of a giant cake, topped by a plaza bathed in brilliant yellow lights in front of a massive stadium.

"Take it all in, kid. Welcome to the filthiest place in the galaxy," Greez says out of the corner of his mouth. He claps Anna on the shoulder. "Come on, Hans lives this way."

Anna feels her apprehensions melt away as they dive into the throng of vacationers outside the spaceport. She can't help but get caught up in the crowd's excitement as exotic music drifts through the air and foreign languages buzz in her ears. She finds herself giggling at the flamboyant displays of fashion on the people milling around her. What are their stories? Where did they come from? She can almost pretend she's one of them, with some mysterious, fantastical history of her own.

An urgent tug on her hand pulls her back to reality.

"Stay close, Anna," Cal says in a voice muffled through his respirator.

Just like that, she's an orphan girl again.

They slip into a narrow alley, and suddenly the encroaching walls of the surrounding buildings become a maze. The captain leads them through a dizzying labyrinth of side streets, doubling back and turning in seemingly random directions. Soon, she's hopelessly lost.

"Um, guys, do we know where we're going?"

"Not far now, trust me!" Greez replies from ahead. "Just a few more blocks, uh… _this_ way."

As they venture further from the vibrant main road, the number of passers-by dwindle until only their own footsteps are left echoing off the empty walls. Turning another corner, Anna's feet slow as the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Something isn't right. Glancing over at Cal, she finds him staring intently down the alley with a hand hovering over the hilt of his lightsaber.

"Greez?" Cal calls out in a wary half-whisper.

The Latero is staring up at a featureless grey wall about half a block down the street. Carefully, he raises one of his hands to touch the gleaming metal surface.

The instant Greez's fingers make contact, the wall explodes outward in a blur of movement. Two hulking forms unfold onto the street, knocking the captain roughly to the pavement. Blazing red eyes glower down on Greez's prone form as the huge cannon barrels emerge from beneath sliding plates.

"_Unauthorized," _intones a gutteral mechanical voice.

There's a flash of green as Cal's lightsaber hums to life. Anna's own pistol is in her hand in an instant as she backs away from the huge security droids. She grits her teeth as she flicks the switch to lethal mode. She'll be lucky if her bolts even scratch the paint on those things.

"Hans, Hans, it's me!" Greez shouts, tearing his hood off in a panic. He shields his face from the glare of the droids' ocular sensors.

The droids do nothing except adjust several of their cannons toward Anna and Cal with robotic precision, bathing them in the fine red grid projected by their targeting sensors.

"Time for plan B," Cal growls, igniting the other end of his lightsaber and spinning it in a blur as he crouches low to the ground.

"You have _two _of those?" Anna exclaims incredulously.

Before Cal has the chance to attack, however, the laser grids disappear. Both of the massive droids freeze, the cannons adorning their rectangular bodies folding inward and disappearing from view with a chorus of soft clicks. Red eyes flash blue as the droids turn in unison to face toward each other.

Anna twitches the barrel of her blaster nervously between the twin metal forms, still expecting them to open fire at any moment. Instead, a hologram almost the height of the wall fizzles into focus between the droids. It's the face of a human man, his coiffed hair and meticulously trimmed sideburns framing sharp features contorted into a welcoming smile.

"_Greez Dritus. What a pleasant surprise! And I see you've brought friends."_

The Latero in question pushes himself off the ground, dusting off his shoulders with an angry huff.

"That was a rather _unpleasant_ surprise, I'll tell you what! You expecting a clone army to come knocking?"

The man in the hologram looks embarrassed at Greez's words.

"_My apologies for the rough reception, I must admit I do not usually expect guests. But where are my manners? Come in, let's speak somewhere more comfortable."_

The hologram flickers out and a seam immediately appears down the middle of the wall behind it. The smooth steel surface slides apart in a rectangular slit at least two storeys tall, revealing the backlit edges of polished stairs shining from the shadows beyond.

"Rough reception, I'll say…" Greez mumbles under his breath as he makes for the entrance.

Cal extinguishes the blades of his lightsaber, hesitantly returning it to his hip. He turns back and gives Anna a small nod before following the captain into the darkness of the doorway. The moment Anna's own feet pass the threshold, the wall seals behind them with a whisper of air.

"Okay, that's creepy," she whispers in the sudden deafening silence.

Slipping her pistol back under her cloak, she takes a step onto the stairs. Only when her foot falls straight through the floor does she realize that what she thought was an ascending staircase is actually the reflection of a _descending _staircase on a black, mirrored ceiling. Flailing her arms in a desperate attempt to regain balance, she narrowly stops herself from tumbling into the darkness.

"Giant killer droids, invisible staircases… do you think this place could scream 'evil lair' any louder?" she grumbles, gingerly toeing the next stair in case it also disappears under her boot.

"This guy definitely has way too many credits," Cal mutters back in agreement.

They continue the rest of their descent in tense silence.

The landing opens out into a wide, spacious lounge. A low couch of grey wood flows out of the floor off to one side, wrapping around a thin crystal aquarium filled with strange creatures with pulsing yellow bodies. A bar is laid out on the other end of the room, the wall behind the sleek countertop adorned with delicate bottles of various glowing fluids—most of which Anna would easily have mistaken for ion fuel in any other setting. The entire space is lit subtly from below by lighting strips tucked under the raised edges of the long flooring tiles, splashing streaks of sterile light onto the walls and ceiling. Like the stairwell, the walls are a black mirror finish, granting the illusion that the room stretches forever into the darkness in every direction.

As Anna watches, a doorway opens silently in the wall opposite the staircase. A blank-faced protocol droid of the same mirror polish as its surroundings waddles into view, fixing the visitors with its unblinking yellow eyes.

"Welcome, Greez Dritus and guests, to the estate of the esteemed Master Hans Westergaard," it states in a soft, feminine tone.

"Enough of that, five-ten," a gentle voice orders from beyond. "They're friends, not customers."

The man from the hologram emerges from behind the humanoid droid, dressed in a high-necked turquoise suit with tails that reach the back of his knees. His polished black shoes strike the floor crisply, gleaming as they catch the light emanating from the wooden floorboards.

This must be Hans Westergaard. For some reason, Anna expected someone older—this guy can't be more than thirty.

"Of course, sir," the droid answers smoothly, turning and walking behind the bar.

Hans Westergaard extends his arms toward Greez as if to invite a hug.

"Greez Dritus! It's been too long, my friend."

"Been a while," Greez agrees with a stiff nod.

"And who are these fellows? I don't believe we've been introduced."

The man's emerald eyes flit over Cal and BD-1 before catching Anna's gaze for a second longer than she likes. Greez grimaces at the question, but Hans chuckles.

"Oh, you know I jest, Mister Dritus. I know who they are, of course."

Cal tenses visibly as Hans steps forward in a single swift stride, extending a black-gloved hand.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Master Jedi. That was quite the display back at the entrance! I'll admit, I was afraid I would have to put in an order for new security droids."

Cal glances down at the hand and back up at the man, finally accepting the handshake. Hans nods indulgently before turning his attention to Anna. As the man steps toward her, she can't stop herself from taking a tiny step back.

"And this must be the newest member of the crew. Imperial communications mentioned something about a human girl fighting alongside the infamous Cal Kestis on Sakiya." Hans fixes her with his sharp gaze as he offers his hand. "What's your name, dear?"

Something about the man's unnaturally perfect smile sets Anna's teeth on edge. She takes the gloved hand gingerly, shaking once before letting go as quickly as possible.

Hans laughs, showing neat rows of pearly teeth.

"Very well, I won't pry."

The protocol droid shuffles back up to Hans with a soft whirring of joints, carrying a silver tray laden with crystal glasses.

"Would the guests care for a drink?" it asks in a pleasant tone, presenting the tray.

Hans retrieves one of the half-filled glasses, raising an eyebrow when no-one else so much as moves.

"No, I think we're good. Thanks," Cal replies quietly.

"Suit yourselves," Hans says with a shrug, downing his drink in one swallow. Placing the glass carefully back down on the tray, he gestures over his shoulder with two fingers. "Leave us, five-ten."

The droid walks slowly out of the lounge, still carrying the tray. The doorway closes behind its chrome figure, completing the illusion of the infinite plain once more.

"My apologies, Mister Dritus, I know how you feel about droids. I really ought to hire an assistant. A human one, or at least a Twi'lek." Hans gestures toward the couch. "Please, everyone, make yourselves at home! You must be tired from your journey."

Greez plops himself down on the couch. Haltingly, Cal and Anna follow suit. Anna keeps her eyes fixed firmly on Hans, watching as the man walks across the lounge with carefully measured steps and seats himself, turning to face the captain.

"So, how is Cere Junda faring these days?" Hans crosses a leg over the other, leaning back in his seat. "If I recall, your charter with her ended quite some time ago, did it not?"

"Cere's fine," Greez answers curtly. "Look, I'm gonna cut to the chase. I need a thing traced. A symbol, can't find it in the ship database."

Hans raises a trimmed eyebrow.

"Ah, it seems I spoke too soon—you _are _here on business, after all." He smirks, and for the first time the expression seems real. Pressing the tips of his fingers together, he uncrosses his legs and leans forward. "Well, you should know my services aren't free, Mister Dritus. What are you offering in exchange?"

Greez's eyes narrow slightly.

"You still owe me for that time on Tatooine, Hans. You do this, consider us square."

"Hmm. Let's see this symbol of yours, then."

Greez glances to Cal, who nods.

"Show him, BD."

The little droid clambers onto Cal's shoulder, the smaller of his eyes lighting up as he projects a flickering image of Anna's drawing into the air in front of Hans. As Hans stares at the floating symbol, his eyes widen by the barest fraction. A slight furrow forms in the man's immaculate brow.

"Oh, this will make us more than even, Mister Dritus," he murmurs. His gaze shifts from the hologram back to Greez. "Where did you even find this?"

"What does it matter? Can you trace it or not?"

Hans holds Greez's eyes for a long moment, pursing his lips. Slowly, he starts to nod, scratching his chin with a knuckle.

"This will cost you, Mister Dritus. More than my one favour can afford, I'm afraid." Hans rises smoothly from the couch, sweeping his hands to clasp them behind his back. "Let's discuss this somewhere more appropriate."

Hans waves his hand in the air and a different doorway opens in the wall behind the aquarium. He steps through without a backwards glance.

Greez pushes himself off the couch, cursing under his breath. Anna shares a look of confusion with Cal as they jump up to scramble after Hans and the captain. The hallway through the doors has a markedly different look compared to the lounge, with walls of matte steel lit brightly from above and below by glowing tiles of frosted glass. The doorway closes behind her and she feels a strange sensation, as if she's slightly heavier than usual. The doors at the other end of the corridor open right as Hans reaches them, revealing a thin railing overlooking a room so large it has its own breeze.

It's then that she realizes this isn't a hallway. It's an elevator.

Stepping out onto the balcony, her mouth drops open.

Long catwalks stretch across the enormous room, suspended from the ceiling by thin beams of crackling blue energy. A dark, polished floor gleams far below like the surface of a tranquil sea, split into a neat grid by criss-crossing lighting strips. Arranged within the grids is the most extensive assortment of weaponry that Anna has ever seen: racks upon racks of folded combat droids, gargantuan cannons the size of starfighters, clusters of vibrating mines suspended in a rippling force fields, wicked-looking missiles of every shape and size, even an entire TIE fighter positioned in the far corner. Sleek silver droids glide between the displays making inscriptions on translucent datapads.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Hans's voice sounds from further along the railing, booming in the cavernous chamber. "And this is just the showroom!"

"You're an arms dealer," Cal states. Anna can hear the scowl in his voice.

"My father was an arms dealer. _I_ am much more."

Hans continues his brisk pace until he reaches another set of doors where the balcony meets the far wall. Retrieving a cylindrical piece of metal from his breast pocket, he inserts it into a small port in the doorframe. The doors part with a blast of compressed air.

"Through here, if you please."

The room beyond is strikingly simple compared to what Anna's seen of the rest of the estate. A single wide desk sits in the center of the floor, its surface a glossy black that matches the faces of the hexagonal tiles that make up the wrap-around walls. As she steps past the threshold, the doors leap shut behind her with another hiss of air.

She resists the urge to try to pry them back open.

"You take us up here just so we could have a standing conversation in a smaller room?" Greez asks dryly.

"Hardly."

Hans places his key down onto the desk.

Immediately, every wall around them comes to life with points of light that leap off the black surfaces and into the air, illuminating the previously dim chamber in a pale blue aura. Anna feels a rush of vertigo as the holograms flit about the room like fireflies, swarming and configuring into a perfect replica of the _Mantis_ atop the desk.

"I really do admire Cere Junda's work," Hans says as he walks around the other side of the desk, the light of the holograms reflected in his eyes. "On the run for thirteen years, equipped with not much more than a glorified subspace transceiver, and yet she's managed to compile what is probably the most complete record of Imperial operations outside of the Empire's own databases." The corner of the man's mouth twitches. "Well, except for my own, of course."

Hans smooths back a few strands of his hair, and for the first time Anna notices the thin strip of metal grafted to the skin just above his ear. Three points of light flash along the implant and suddenly the image of the _Mantis _explodes outward, reconfiguring into the image of the flower.

But this image isn't her sketch—it's sharper, more precise, with a jagged blur obscuring the lower portion of the symbol. Her heart thuds in her chest.

She finds Hans studying her from across the table. The man's smile widens.

"As my favour to you, Mister Dritus, I will tell you this. It is no surprise that even Cere Junda's database contains no record of this symbol. What you see before you is the only data I have been able to salvage on the subject myself, and this is Republic-era." There's a glint in Hans's eyes as he lets the words sink in. "However, if you are keen on this pursuit of yours, I can point you in the right direction. For a price."

Greez folds both pairs of arms over his chest with a huff.

"Name it." It's Cal who speaks.

"The girl." Hans's voice is impassive, as if he were requesting nothing more than a glass of water.

It takes Anna a whole two seconds to realize he's talking about _her._

"_Excuse me?"_ she sputters.

"That's not happening," Cal states instantly. Hans raises his eyebrows.

"You misconstrue my intentions, Mister Kestis. I wish no harm to the girl—quite the opposite, in fact." Hans meets Anna's eyes again. "Clearly, it's you who's most interested in this symbol. Is it something tied to your past? Are you a refugee? An orphan, perhaps?"

Something about the way Hans looks at her makes her feel like he's looking straight through her.

"I am so very curious to get to the bottom of your story, my dear. Let's discover it together."

He extends a hand. Anna shrinks away.

"I don't know what you think you know about me, but I don't need your help," she says lowly.

"Oh, but you clearly do. You're here, aren't you?" Hans chuckles, gesturing to the others in the room. "Come now, why not cut the middlemen? What have these people done for you except get you in trouble? I'm offering you everything I have—my resources, my assets, my knowledge. This flower, this _Crocus_ is only the beginning. Without my help, what hope do you have of finding the answers you seek?"

The Crocus. Somehow the name just sounds _right_. Anna stares back at Hans, frozen. There's a strange intensity to the man's gaze, an obsessive gleam that seems to reach toward her like a physical presence.

How much does he really know about her past? She clenches her jaw beneath her bandana.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine where I am."

Hans holds her gaze for a few seconds longer before he drops his hand with a sigh.

"Very well."

In an instant, the intensity is gone, replaced once again by that perfect, unreadable smile.

"In that case, there's something else that you can do for me, Mister Dritus." Hans's implant flashes again and the holograms reform into a scattered starmap. "I must admit, I know very little about this symbol of yours. Whatever it is, the Empire was quite thorough in their efforts to hide it. But there is one place you could try looking. Several, actually."

The starmap zooms out until it encompasses most of the Outer Rim. Three points of pulsing red appear at the fringes.

"As you know, the Emperor ordered most of the Republic-era records purged when he first came to power. But only a fool would destroy centuries of aggregated knowledge, and the Emperor is certainly no fool. There are databases containing complete copies of the Jedi Archives scattered across the galaxy, their locations known only to a handful of high-ranking Imperial officers… and me."

Cal takes a sharp breath through his respirator. Hans walks around the side of the desk, his eyes never leaving the holotable.

"That's where you fellows come in. You see, I've had my eye on these archives for quite some time, but covertly breaking into an Imperial space station is regrettably still above the capabilities of my droids."

"That's where we come in?" Greez asks, stroking his chin.

"Naturally. Secure me a backdoor into the mainframe, and whatever information you find there is yours to use as you desire."

Hans taps on the desk and a touchpad materializes on its surface. With a flurry of presses, a small drawer slides open near his hand. Reaching inside, he retrieves a long pen-shaped device encrusted with exposed computer chips, offering it to Greez.

"This scomp drive contains the current coordinates of the nearest database, as well as a set of Imperial credentials to get you inside. The fun part is it also contains a worm that performs a brute-force decryption algorithm while simultaneously streaming the data to me in batched transmissions. Of course, that leaves all the data nice and visible for you as well. All you have to do is plug it in."

Greez snatches up the device, scrutinizing it.

"How are you sure this is gonna work?" he asks warily.

"I'm not." Hans shrugs nonchalantly. "But I guarantee it's better than whatever you can come up with from scratch. Have you no faith in an old friend?"

"Hmph. Fine. Deal." Greez pockets the scomp drive and turns toward the door. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Hurry along now," Hans calls. "You should hurry, by the way. The space stations make periodic jumps, and I have no idea where this one is going next. Five-ten will see you out."

On cue, the doors hiss open to reveal the chrome protocol droid.

"Follow me, Greez Dritus and guests," it intones, turning and waddling back down the balcony.

Anna makes it to the threshold before Hans speaks again.

"Oh, another thing just occurred to me that might be relevant."

She turns back to find Hans leaning over the desk, the damaged image of the Crocus illuminating the side of his face. There's a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"A name. Arendelle."

* * *

**It's Hans, in space! Space!Hans**


	8. The Lights Are Out

**The Lights Are Out**

"So let me get this straight. This man tried to kill you with military droids, then attempted to barter scraps of information in exchange for Anna's _life_. And now he's having us break into a top-secret Imperial facility for him? And you're actually going through with this?"

Cere's eyes are glaring so wide Anna's worried they might pop clean out of their sockets. Greez, to his credit, seems only mildly concerned for his own safety as he answers.

"Look, I know Hans. He's a slimeball, but he's got an addiction for the Empire's dirty secrets worse than death-sticks. I'm not saying I trust him, but we're after the same thing here." His gaze flits over Anna before settling on Cal. "That being said… I ain't too keen on flying blind into the belly of the beast, either. You sure there isn't another way?"

Cal shakes his head.

"Cere's database is the best we got aside from this, and it's not enough."

Cere turns the narrow rod of the scomp drive over in her fingers, her lips curled into a grimace.

"This whole operation reeks of a trap. How do we know this thing doesn't contain some kind of virus that just shuts the whole ship down and leaves us stranded in space so Hans can come collect the bounty on our heads?"

Greez grows a shade paler at the prospect. The image of Hans's emotionless smile rises behind Anna's eyes, and she shudders. She certainly wouldn't put it past him.

"Can we get the data inside the drive without plugging it in?" she ventures. All eyes in the cockpit turn to her, and she flashes a nervous smile.

"Cal?" Cere asks.

BD-1 emits a series of rapid beeps from his position crouched on the edge of the cockpit dash.

"He says he can try, but he'll have to take it apart," Cal translates.

"Then that's what we have to do," Cere replies with a firm nod. "We can't risk exposing the _Mantis's _systems directly to Hans's tech."

"Fine, fine. Do what you need to do, just tell me where we're going soon so we can stop floating out here in the middle of nowhere twiddling our thumbs!" Greez gestures out the cockpit glass at the featureless void beyond. "I'm getting cabin fever already."

Cal nods.

"Come on, then, let's see what's inside this thing."

Cal picks the scomp drive from Cere's hand. BD-1 makes a deft leap from the dashboard and lands on his shoulder, his tiny feet scrabbling for purchase. Anna lets out a giggle at the little droid's antics. As BD-1 trills something that has Cal chuckling and patting his head, she wishes she understood droid-speak so she could have caught the joke.

She doesn't realize she's staring until Cal catches her gaze. Immediately, she glances away, pretending to be intently studying the kitchenette. From ache in her cheeks, she's probably been grinning like a madwoman, too.

"You uh, want to come help with this?" Cal asks.

"Sure!" Anna chirps, hoping her face isn't as red as it feels.

She follows close behind as Cal rises from his seat and makes for the engine room. As they enter the corridor leading past the sleeping quarters, Cal turns to her with his lips pursed.

"Hey, sorry for what happened back there with Hans. You holding up okay?"

"I'm great!" Anna winces at the high pitch of her voice.

In truth, she's still shaken by Hans's parting words. _Arendelle._ That name feels _right_ somehow. The man's enigmatic eyes burn like green torches in her memory.

How much more does he know about her past that he held back?

"I-I'm fine," she amends sheepishly, half to convince herself. "I mean, we got what we needed, right?"

"Well, don't jinx it yet," Cal says with a wry shake of his head.

Their feet strike hollowly on the steel flooring of the engine bay. Cal sets the scomp drive down on the bare-metal table in front of the hyperdrive, clearing aside bits of scrap and gleaming nick-nacks that look like they might be lightsaber parts. BD-1 clambers over his shoulder and hops onto the workbench, projecting a fine laser grid as he begins scanning the thin piece of metal.

"What do you think, BD?" Cal asks, pulling a tool from his belt that looks to be some cross between a welding iron and a laser cutter.

The droid shuts off the grid, hopping from foot to foot as he chitters excitedly. Cal laughs.

"Alright, just tell me where to cut, buddy."

The tool spits white sparks as Cal sets its tip carefully between the exposed computer chips on the scomp drive. His tongue sticks out in concentration as he squints down at the device, adjusting his movements as BD-1 issues an unintelligible string of commands beside his hand. Anna's curiosity piques as she watches the movement of his fingers.

"Why do you only wear one glove?" she blurts out.

Finishing the cut, Cal glances up and shuts off his tool. The scomp drive splits into neat halves on the workbench as he lets go.

"Could you pass me those wires behind you?" he requests flatly.

"What, these?" Anna twists awkwardly to reach for the other end of the table.

"Thanks."

Cal begins to position the ends of the wires inside the pieces of the scomp drive, attaching them with careful spot-welds from his tool. Anna shifts from foot to foot in the continued silence.

BD-1 chirps.

"Yeah, I heard her, BD," Cal replies.

"You don't have to answer if it's a personal thing, I get it," Anna adds quickly.

Cal lets out a sigh, flashing her a halfhearted smile.

"Sorry. It's not really personal anymore, but old habits are hard to break."

He looks back to the workbench, focusing on laying the other ends of the wires out on the tabletop.

"Could you pass me that emitter, by the lamp?" he asks without looking up.

"This tube-looking thing?"

"Perfect."

Cal sets upon the hollow cylinder of metal with his tool, cutting and welding in a flurry of molten sparks, attaching the wires in precise intervals along its length until the emitter is fully grafted to the scomp drive by a tangle of copper. He steps back to inspect his handiwork.

"What do you think, little buddy? Want to try hacking this thing?"

The droid trills excitedly, folding back the toes of his right leg to extend the tip of his scomp link.

"Be careful now," Cal warns in a playful tone as he fits the repurposed emitter over BD-1's leg. "Don't know what's in there."

As the droid's holoprojector flickers with lines of binary, Cal finally turns back to face Anna. Placing his multitool down on the workbench, he yanks off the thick glove covering his left hand with a quick motion.

Anna fights to keep her expression neutral at the sight beneath. Helpless to stop them, her eyes run down the pale skin of the back of Cal's hand as it puckers and pits in long gashes, the layers of scar tissue growing so thick toward his fingers that she would barely have been able to recognize the flesh as human. His ring and little finger are missing entirely, replaced by black, skeletal steel. The Jedi turns his hand over under the lamplight, bringing the ragged skin of his palm into view, stretched taut over the metal replacing the bones of his lower hand.

"After the Purge, I worked as a scrapper on Bracca," he says quietly.

"The ship-breaking yards?"

Anna's eyes widen. She considered looking for work there herself during more desperate times, but the rumours of what happened to the girls in the ghettos kept her away.

"Yeah. They lay off scrappers for less serious injuries all the time. Put my hand in the wrong place during my first year, got half of it sheared off. I thought that was it, that I'd have to hit the hyperlanes again. But a friend of mine, Prauf, spent a year of his own savings and got me a new hand. Barely even knew me at the time, but I guess he really liked me."

Anna watches the delicate mechanisms in Cal's prosthetic fingers as he curls them inward toward his palm.

"I wore the glove to hide the injury from my supervisors. Guess I just never felt like taking it off after I left."

Anna tears her gaze away from Cal's hand, focusing on his eyes instead.

"Do you ever visit your friend back on Bracca?" she asks quietly.

Cal shakes his head, avoiding her gaze as he pulls the glove back on.

"Prauf is dead. Sacrificed himself trying to protect me from an Inquisitor the same day Cere and Greez rescued me. It was… it was for nothing. I was found out immediately anyway." His words are barely above a whisper now. "If I'd just… if I'd turned myself in and fought from the start, he'd still be alive."

Anna's chest feels tight. Impulsively, she darts forward and wraps Cal in a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles into his shoulder.

His body stiffens in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. He smells of engine grease and Greez's cooking. After a second, she feels him reach around and pat her gently on the back.

BD-1 chirps twice from the table and she lets go immediately, clasping her hands sheepishly at her waist. She tries not to dwell on how fast her heart is racing. Cal holds her gaze for a few breaths, emotions flitting through his eyes too fast for her to read.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too," he finally says in a low voice.

BD-1 chirps again and Cal turns back to the table.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time buddy,"" he laughs. "What you got?"

Instantly, the weight seems to disappear from Cal's shoulders, leaving Anna wondering if she'd imagined it. BD-1 beeps triumphantly as the hologram projected from his eye flips to several long strings of numbers. Cal claps.

"Coordinates _and _the security codes. Nice going, BD!"

Cal rubs the top of his companion's head fondly as he removes the makeshift connector from BD-1's scomp link.

"Hey, don't go getting too cocky now," he teases as the droid chirps another rapid message. "We still don't know if they work."

Anna's heart leaps to her throat.

"Are we going, then? To the database?"

She's so close. The answers to a lifetime of questions are waiting for her at those coordinates. Cal glances back at her and his expression turns somber.

"This is going to be dangerous, Anna. We don't know what we're going up against out there. Are you sure you still want to do this?"

Something about the way he says the words gives Anna pause, but not out of fear for her own safety. Slowly, her eagerness sputters. She's known these people for less than a week, and during that time, they've done her nothing but favours… and now she's asking them for a favour so big the realization makes her take a physical step backward.

Memories of her argument with Cere two short nights ago send sharp stabs of guilt through her stomach. This really _isn't_ her decision to make. These people owe her nothing.

"Yes, I'm sure," she says quietly. "But you've done enough for me. You all have." She draws a slow breath. "Give me the coordinates. I'll find a way there myself."

Cal's brow furrows immediately.

"No way. You heard what Hans said. There's no time. The database will jump soon and none of us will ever find it again."

"Cal, why are _you_ doing this?" Anna's eyebrows angle upward and she lets out a cheerless laugh. "You've lost so much already. Cere's right. You don't have to do this for me. This isn't worth the risk."

Firm hands—one gloved, one bare—grip her arms just below the shoulders.

"Yes, this is. This is about more than just you or me. The Force brought us together, I'm sure of it. Whatever's in your past, it could be important. Like, fate-of-the-galaxy important."

"What? How can you know?"

"Call it a feeling." Cal lets go of her, letting his arms swing down to his sides. "Look, I can't explain it. There's just something about you, Anna. Something… _different_. I want to help find out what it is."

Similar words coming from Hans chilled her to the core, but with Cal they send warm tingles up her back.

"But the Empire…" she protests weakly.

Cal cuts her off with a crooked smile.

"I've been fighting the Empire for years. I can handle some stormtroopers and encrypted data."

Anna feels a relieved grin break across her face.

"So we're sticking together, then?"

"Looks like it." Cal folds his arms over his chest, tilting his head back toward the cabin. "Let's go find this flower of yours."

BD-1 hops twice on the table with a shrill cheer, and this time Anna's laugh is very real.

* * *

"_The signal stopped transmitting."_

A soft chuckle.

"Of course it did. It was only a matter of time before they took apart the transmitter."

"_The Inquisitorius will not be pleased."_

"Direct your troops to the database. They'll be there soon."

"_And if they're not?"_

"Come now, have you no faith in an old friend?"

"_Hans, I swear, if you're double-crossing me-"_

The click of a severed comm link.

* * *

"Dropping into realspace in three… two… one."

Anna presses her hands into the bench beneath her as the ship shudders, the ethereal patterns of blue light splashing in from the windows snuffing out in an instant. Her shoulder strikes the hard metal wall and for at least the millionth time this week she wishes the _Mantis's_ cockpit had an extra proper chair.

Her discomfort is quickly forgotten when she sees the jagged boulders of ice sailing in droves beyond the cockpit glass. The smallest are barely the size of her hand; the largest rival the size of an Imperial star destroyer. The nearest drift so close she feels as if she could reach out and touch them. The captain yells something in a language she doesn't understand—probably a swear word—and she feels her stomach drop as the ship lurches in a wild manoeuvre. There's a rattling sound on the hull like pebbles tossed down a drain.

"Didn't think to warn us we were flying into a comet field, did you, Hans?" Greez growls to himself. "This paint ain't cheap!"

"At least the debris will keep us hidden from Imperial proximity sensors," Cere remarks through tight lips. "For a while."

"How are we supposed to find the space station in _this?_" Anna groans, her eyes flitting from rock to frozen rock.

"Keep your eyes peeled, it can't be far," Cal says. "If it's even here, that is," he adds in a quieter tone.

Greez continues to thread the gauntlet of icy debris with careful twitches of the flight sticks. Anna squints through the hail of comets, trying to pick out any structures from the formless clusters.

"Look, down there!" she suddenly shouts.

She dashes into the cockpit and points to a spot in the distance, where a glint of dark durasteel shines from the deep shadows beneath a hulking spherical comet.

"That looks like a space station to me!" Greez replies with a grin.

The debris field outside the window rotates dizzyingly as the captain pulls on the control sticks. As Greez guides the ship closer, Anna makes out two thick rings rotating lazily around a narrow central rod adorned with rectangular protrusions.

The database. It's really here.

"The coordinates worked," she breathes.

"Broadcasting the security codes now." Cere types rapidly at the comms station, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Let's hope these work too, or things are about to get messy."

"I miss that witch's voodoo stuff," Greez mumbles nervously as his hands tighten on the joysticks. "Being invisible is really nice."

The cockpit lapses into a tense silence as the station continues to grow larger through the glass.

"This is odd," Cere says with a hand on her headset. "No identity verification, no callsign check, no escort fighters… just an automated message echoing back the security codes."

"The station is unmanned," Cal says abruptly. He laughs, mouth agape. "Of course! Why waste soldiers guarding something that nobody's supposed to find?"

The station is huge in the window now. Greez rotates the ship to align with one of the massive rings, and as Anna watches, a rounded rectangular entrance bleeding sterile white light cracks open before them. She holds her breath as the hangar's maw moves forward to swallow the _Mantis_. The hull whines with the familiar sound of the yacht configuring into landing mode as the pitch of the thrusters falls, bringing it to rest gently on the polished hangar floor.

For a long moment, everyone sits frozen, staring intently out the cockpit window. The interior of the hangar is small, with barely enough space to fit the length of the _Mantis_. The walls are a muted grey, lit evenly by bright lights in the ceiling. Anna waits for the single hangar door in the far corner to open, expecting a legion of stormtroopers to spill out and demand their arrest.

Nothing happens for what seems like eternity.

"The codes worked, too," Cal finally utters in relief.

"I wouldn't count on that," Cere replies darkly. "As you said, this place is probably unmanned. There could be a squadron of TIEs coming to intercept us as we speak."

"Let's not overstay our welcome, huh?" Greez says, punching a button on the dash. The exit ramp opens with a hiss. "Alright, Cal, this is your schtick. In and out, make it quick."

Anna bolts up from her seat as Cal rises. He immediately raises a hand.

"Stay here, Anna. BD-1 and I got this one."

"Oh no you don't." She shakes her head so vigorously her braids whip her in the nose. "I'm coming with you. This is _my _past we're talking about here."

Cal seems like he's about to object. Instead, he slumps his shoulders in defeat.

"Fine. Follow close and stay quiet. If I tell you to run, _run_. You got that?"

Anna nods quickly before dashing for the exit, hastily tying her bandanna over her mouth and pulling up her hood as she goes.

"What was the first thing I said?" Cal groans.

She hears BD-1 chirp as Cal follows after her, his lightsaber jangling with his footsteps. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, she slows as her feet meet the black hangar floor. Her boots make faint imprints on the pristine, polished surface as her footfalls echo crisply off the hard walls surrounding her.

The cleaning budget for this place must be insane.

"Doesn't seem like anyone's been here for a while," Cal remarks as he draws abreast, raising an eyebrow at the ground. As they approach the door at the end of the hangar, his hand moves to hover over his lightsaber. "Stay on guard."

Anna jabs her finger at the control panel beside the door, only to have it light up an angry red. Cal's hand comes to rest on her shoulder.

"BD's got the doors."

The little droid clambers up beside Cal's ear, extending his scomp link into the circular port underneath the panel. With a few quick turns and a happy trill, the diagonal seam of the door slides open. Cal moves forward with his hand raised, poking his head cautiously into the hallway.

"Looks clear, let's go," he whispers.

The corridor is darker than the hangar. Clusters of rounded slots stretch up the walls to the low ceiling, emitting a diffuse white light that reflects dimly off the same black flooring. The strips of light are positioned at regular intervals, following the gentle arc of the station ring into the distance. Cal walks ahead of Anna on the balls of his feet, his knees slightly bent, his shoulders tense as he scours the walls with wide eyes. The station is eerily silent apart from the soft tapping of their feet.

They come to an intersection with a corridor branching off toward the center of the station. A sign jutting out of the ceiling proclaims _Central Access _in bold lettering. Anna shares a glance with Cal, who nods as he peeks around the corner.

"Clear."

This corridor is short and narrow. Anna's excitement grows as her eyes settle on the single terminal on a pedestal down at the end.

This is it. The terminal grows in her vision, and her breathing quickens. Her legs pull her along until she's running, her heart thudding in her chest as she flies down the hall.

She reaches the terminal and taps frantically on the keypad, watching as the holoprojector flashes white as it powers on. A screen appears in front of her, displaying a gently rotating image of the Imperial crest. There's a small window to the exterior in the wall above the terminal, and she can see one of the long struts connecting the ring to the center structure come alive with a trail of amber indicators down toward the core. Her breath comes quick and shallow as she waits desperately for some kind of menu or search field to appear.

Instead, a simple message flashes on screen: _Insert authorization key._

Damn it.

"You really need to stop doing that," Cal hisses from behind her.

"You said it was clear!" she hisses back.

Cal blinks at her, his expression shifting between exasperation and humour. He settles for sighing through his nose.

"Can you get past this?" Anna gestures to the holoscreen.

Cal places his hands on his hips.

"BD, slice this thing open."

The droid hops from Cal's shoulder and onto the terminal, reaching his leg into the large circular port to the right of the keypad. The pieces of the keyhole begin to rotate under the droid's careful movements. The message on the holoscreen fizzles out to be replaced by rapidly scrolling lines of gibberish.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Anna whispers out of the corner of her mouth.

"I'm not sure, Anna. Gotta admit, this is also my first time hacking a top-secret Imperial database," Cal deadpans.

Anna's eyes begin to blur as she tries in vain to follow the dense columns of characters flitting through the air in front of her nose.

"What do you see, BD-1? Anything about a Crocus? Or Arendelle?"

The droid lets out a shrill beep that sounds vaguely annoyed.

"What'd he say?" She whirls to Cal excitedly.

"He said he's one tiny exploration droid trying to simultaneously decrypt and search through several hundred years' worth of raw data, and that he's doing the best he can. Have some patience."

"He said all that with one beep?" Anna gapes.

"No." Cal smiles slyly. "I'm sure that was the gist of it though."

Anna snaps her mouth shut, folding her arms over her chest and frowning fiercely back at Cal—before realizing her face is still covered by her bandanna. She glares at him instead.

Abruptly, BD-1 emits a long string of rapid notes. Immediately, Cal dashes to the terminal.

"You onto something, buddy?"

Then something shifts. BD-1 chirps again, but Anna isn't listening anymore. Sweat slicks her palms as a deep sense of foreboding takes root in her heart.

A shape moves behind the holoscreen. She squints, leaning around to get a clear view out the window. Her breath stops.

"Cal," she says slowly. "Cal, we have a problem."

Cal silently follows her finger out the viewport at the triangular silhouettes of the Imperial shuttle approaching from the other side of the comet. Its pale hull gleams in the faint starlight. There's a creak of leather as Cal's gloved hand clenches into a fist by his side.

"Shit," he hisses, fishing a comm chip from his breast pocket. "Cere, tell Greez to fire up the _Mantis!_"

"_Cal, what's going on? Do you have the data?" _Cere's voice is grainy coming out of the tiny speaker.

"We got company," Cal says grimly. He shuts off the comm, fixing Anna with a hard look. "Get back to the ship, now."

"But the data-"

"We'll worry about the data. _Go._" His tone leaves no room for negotiation.

She pulls her blaster from under her cloak, taking another quick glance out the window. The shuttle is gone. She begins to run.

She makes it three strides before the lights at the end of the corridor shut off with a hollow click. The clicking increases in volume as a wave of darkness propagates forward section by section until the entire hallway is engulfed in black. The terminal powers down behind her with a stuttering whine. BD-1 lets out a surprised cry.

"That's our cue to leave," Cal states quietly, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. "Come on."

They run down the corridor side by side, their breathing deafening in the absence of the electric hum of the lights. Cal reaches the intersection first and Anna almost runs into his outstretched hand in the darkness.

"Something's coming," he whispers.

Anna grips her pistol tightly, her eyes flitting wildly, trying to pierce the opaque gloom. She shivers—was it this cold on their way in? The sense of foreboding grows until her chest feels much too small to contain her panic.

A calm, granular voice pierces the still air.

"Cal Kestis."

All the lights turn back on simultaneously, flashing deep red as the repeating falloff of an emergency alarm begins sounding from everywhere at once. Three matte-black figures stand in the mouth of the corridor opposite the direction of the hangar bay. Two of them wear the same armour as the black trooper from Sakiya, both wielding long marksman rifles.

The third figure is clad in a tight Imperial uniform wreathed in black capes. Her pale hair drapes freely down her back in a long braid. She wears no armour except for the polished mask concealing her face, its contours lit from below by the crimson lights.

"Run." A blade of green plasma bursts from Cal's hand with a harsh blast.

But Anna can only stare transfixed as the woman sweeps back her cape and extends her arm out perpendicular to her body, holding a metallic rod with a semicircular guard wrapping over her knuckles. A scorching blade of blood red issues forth from the weapon with a shriek like the air itself is being torn apart.

"Get the girl," the woman orders calmly. "The Jedi is mine."

The sight of the red lightsaber shakes Anna from her trance. She bolts down the corridor just as the trooper on the right tosses something dark and metallic in her direction. The device bounces once off the floor before exploding in a violent electric blast that sears the air right on her heels. She almost loses her footing as the shockwave knocks into her from behind, but she manages to keep running. Ears ringing, she looks over her shoulder in a daze in time to see green meet red in a blaze of light as Cal parries a swing from the masked figure.

A beam of red melts a smoking trail into the floor at her feet. Another zips under her arm, setting embers alight on her shawl with its proximity. She keeps running. She can see the white light of the doorway to the hangar down the corridor. Just a little farther.

A shot flies over her shoulder, exploding on the doorway right as she reaches it. The force of the blast throws her to the floor, and for a moment she scrambles blindly as her vision swims with spots.

As she tries to push herself up, something hard and blunt strikes the back of her head, throwing her world into starburst and pain. A booted foot presses into her back.

"_You're a feisty one, aren't you?"_

The trooper's voice drips with venom through the voice modulator. She sees the approaching boots of the second trooper in her peripheral vision as the first grabs her roughly by the wrists, twisting the blaster out of her grip.

"_Go help with the Jedi, I've got- _gah!"

Anna catches herself as the hands grabbing her suddenly let go. Twisting onto her back, she just manages to roll out of the way as the first trooper collapses with a sizzling green lightsaber blade protruding from the center of his chest. The second trooper turns to face down the hallway, his rifle raised.

Her fingers skitter across the floor until they grasp the familiar handle of her blaster. The fire mode is still on lethal, but there's no time to worry about that. Clenching her jaw, she aims the barrel square at the trooper's chest and squeezes off three shots. The man lets out a garbled scream, crumpling to the floor with a gaping hole carved in the side of his chestplate.

Skittering backward on her elbows, she sees Cal pull the half of the lightsaber embedded in the first trooper back into his hand, reuniting it with the other half with a deft twist.

Honestly, at this point she wouldn't be surprised if that thing also fired blaster bolts.

A gust of freezing air washes over her. A cluster of wicked crystal spears erupts from the floor at the Jedi's feet. Cal throws himself backward through the air, avoiding impalement by a hair's breadth before landing on his hands and knees. The masked woman steps into view from around the bend, lightsaber in one hand, the other held in a clawed fist in front of her.

One thing's for sure, she does not want to get into a fight with _that _lady.

Scrambling to her feet, she dashes for the hangar as the sharp grinding of clashing lightsabers resumes in earnest. She bursts into the hangar bay, waving her arms frantically as she spots Cere standing on the _Mantis's _exit ramp. The ship's engines are already on, the hot exhaust wind blowing her hood off her head.

"Anna, where's Cal?" Cere shouts over the roar of the engines, leveling her blaster at the doorway.

Before Anna can respond, the Jedi in question comes flying into the hangar, landing hard on his back and skidding across the floor with his lightsaber still raised. The masked figure leaps after him, and Cal uses both hands to block the blow as her red saber cleaves downward with terrifying speed. Directing his opponent's blade to the side, Cal throws up his gloved hand and pushes at the air, knocking the woman away from him in a fluttering of capes.

Sparks fly as the woman drives her lightsaber into the hangar floor to slow her backward momentum, carving a molten groove into the polished surface.

The shriek of a blaster sounds beside Anna as Cere opens fire. The masked woman feints to the side, dodging the first bolt while methodically pulling her blade out of the ground. Anna's finger tightens on the trigger and she fires two shots of her own in quick succession. For an instant she's certain the woman stares straight at her from behind the expressionless mask.

The lightsaber whirls in lightning-fast arcs. Anna's first bolt flies into the ceiling. The second flies straight back at her. She dives into the ship for cover, clutching her shoulder at the searing pain as the plasma beam grazes her skin.

Right. No more shooting at anyone who has a damn lightsaber.

Her ears pop at a loud blast, and suddenly Cal's dashing up the ramp, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Take off! Take off now!" he shouts.

Anna nods, stumbling her way into the cockpit.

"Greez, we need to-"

"Yeah, I heard him too, kid! Hang on to something."

The whine of the engines climbs as the captain flicks switches frantically. The hull shudders.

"Greez, why aren't we moving?" Cere yells as she and Cal tumble into their seats. The Latero jerks on the flight sticks to no avail.

"No, no, no, what's wrong with the landing gear?" he mutters.

"Greez, look!"

Dread pits in Anna's stomach as she points out the cockpit glass. Fingers of white frost crawl inward from the edges of the window like frozen vines. The hangar beyond grows thick with sharp crystals of ice, scratching the glass as they swirl around the masked figure in a miniature hurricane. The pounding pain in her skull from the butt of the trooper's rifle intensifies the sight of the blizzard.

"It's the Inquisitor, she's doing this somehow," Cal states grimly.

Anna really doesn't like the note of fear in his voice.

"Fire the cannons! Break her concentration!" Cere commands, rushing forward to stand beside the pilot's seat.

The walls of the hangar flash bright blue as the guns beneath the _Mantis's _bow scream to life under Greez's trigger finger. Thick laser bolts strike the ground around the woman, sending up plumes of smoke and shrapnel that momentarily obscure her from view.

"Come on, come on," Greez mumbles under his breath, pulling hard on the flight sticks.

With a shuddering creak, the ship jerks free of whatever was fixing it to the ground, listing dangerously before Greez manages to get the pitch back under control. The dust and snow is blasted aside by exhaust wind, revealing the masked figure supporting herself on her hands and knees between four craters carved into the floor by the ship's cannons.

The woman rises from the ground, her tattered capes billowing around her. The dark mask tilts up to glare straight into the cockpit. One lightsaber blade ignites in her hand—then a second, from the other end. She begins to advance, the blades spinning faster and faster until they form a blazing disc of crimson light in front of her. Greez looses off two more shots, only for the cannon bolts to ricochet off and explode on the hangar walls.

"Aw, come on, is that thing even legal?" Anna groans.

BD-1 lets out a shrill falling tone.

Then she's grabbing onto the back of Cal's chair for dear life as Greez guns the engines and yanks the _Mantis _backward. The figure of the woman shrinks rapidly, momentarily framed by the hangar entrance before the station is flipped out of view as the captain initiates a wild 180-degree turn.

"Hope you got what you came for, kid," Greez shouts, his hands flying in a blur over the buttons on the dash, "because we ain't coming back!"

The comets outside the window drag into infinite streaks of light as the Latero punches the throttle to the floor.

* * *

**Man, was this chapter fun to write.**


	9. The Coordinates

**The Coordinates**

Anna hisses as the thick drops of liquid meet her scalp. A sharp, burning ache spreads into her skull from the points of contact.

"Hold still, this should only hurt for a minute," Cal admonishes.

She tries not to squirm as more drops of searing stim fluid dribble onto her head. Little by little, the throbbing pain dissipates from where the trooper clubbed her with the rifle. Cal places the empty stim canister on the lounge table.

"Want another one?"

Anna scowls. "Honestly, I think the concussion hurts less."

"Suit yourself," Cal laughs. "More for me."

Anna leans back on the couch cushions, closing her eyes as the burning sensation of the stim gradually transitions to a pleasant chill. Her mind drifts immediately to the memory of the masked woman and her blade of blazing red. She swallows.

"Cal… who was that back there?"

She feels the couch cushion sag as Cal takes a seat beside her.

"That was an Inquisitor," he says in a low voice. "A Force-sensitive specifically trained to hunt Jedi."

She opens her eyes to find Cal's expression has hardened into a somber mask.

"Was she the one who killed your friend?" she asks quietly.

"No. No, that one's dead." Cal pauses for a few breaths before meeting her gaze again. "I've fought a few Inquisitors before. None of them were like that, though."

"You mean the crazy spinny lightsaber she had?"

That gets a slight chuckle out of Cal.

"Actually, _every_ Inquisitor gets one of those. No, I meant the… ice."

Anna doesn't know if the statement should surprise her, but it doesn't. She's seen Cal do some incredible things with the Force, sure, but what that Inquisitor did felt different, somehow—more raw, more primal, like watching a breaking tidal wave. The memory of icicles gleaming crimson under harsh emergency lighting flashes behind her eyes, and suddenly she wants a change of topic.

"Where are we going now?"

Cal seems to relax slightly. Maybe he wanted the change of topic, too.

"Nal Hutta—for real this time," he says. "The _Mantis _needs repairs after that comet field."

"And then?"

Cal shrugs. "We find somewhere to lie low. Stay ahead of the Empire."

"And what about the data BD-1 pulled from the database?"

Cal pauses, then sighs. Anna's heart sinks.

"He's uploading it to the ship computers as we speak. There isn't much of it, and it's heavily corrupted from the power cut." He wrings his hands unconsciously. "I'm not sure what we'll be able to get out of it."

"It'll be enough," Anna says quickly, nodding to herself. "It has to be."

Cal looks like he's on the verge of saying something else, but he nods along with her, his eyes fixed on the table.

"Cal?"

He glances up.

"Thank you. For everything. You didn't have to do this."

"I know." Cal shoots her a halfhearted smile. "You should thank Cere and Greez. They're the ones who needed convincing."

The captain's voice rasps over the intercom.

"_Alright fellas, sit down and buckle up. Next stop, a hive of scum and villainy."_

The couch vibrates slightly, signalling the ship's re-entry into realspace.

"I should get up there," Cal says, rising from the lounge table.

"Wish I had a seat in the cockpit so I'd stop getting thrown around," Anna grumbles half-jokingly.

"Yeah, Merrin said that all the time, too."

The words are solemn, but there's a teasing light in Cal's eyes. He disappears into the cockpit, leaving Anna alone on the couch once more.

She picks up the empty stim vial on the table, idly flipping it between her knuckles as she watches the yacht plunge downward toward the green-gold orb of the Hutt homeworld. As the bow meets the first layers of atmosphere, the view is quickly obscured by dense green clouds. The rest of the descent passes in an opaque soup of swirling mist.

The whine of the engines changes pitch as the familiar sounds of the ship reconfiguring to land resonate through the walls. A tangle of tarnished pipes, mismatched roofs, and narrow alleyways rises into view through the haze of fog outside the windows. The floor gives a gentle jolt beneath Anna's feet as the landing gear meets the ground.

Cal returns from the cockpit, fiddling with the straps of his respirator as he secures it over his face. Greez emerges behind him, glancing over to Anna with his arms folded.

"Hey kid, maybe stay inside this time. Don't know if you've been down here before, but the air ain't great for ya."

Anna starts to protest, but Cal cuts her off.

"Anna, I'm with Greez on this one. Besides, there's always a chance someone with the Haxion Brood might recognize you."

"You've got a bounty on your head ten times bigger than I do!" she exclaims.

"Try thirty," Cal retorts through his mask, "but I can defend myself." He pats his hip with a cheeky wink.

Anna folds her arms indignantly. BD-1 peeks out from over Cal's shoulder and chirps a long message.

"He says your impression of me will probably benefit if you don't come." Cal blinks. "Hey, wait a minute, what are you trying to say?"

The droid argues back with a series of beeps.

"Just because _you_ know what it's like to have the funding of the Jedi Council…"

Cal's voice fades away as he steps out of the cabin and down the exit ramp. Anna bolts up and moves to follow—then takes a single whiff of the outside air and turns right back around.

"Ugh, you weren't kidding," she chokes to Greez through a fit of coughs. "It smells worse than rancor farts out there."

"That's methane for ya," Greez laughs, punching the button to close the doors. "There's enough of it here in some places that the air'll explode if you try to shoot a blaster. Always bring a knife if you've got business on Nal Hutta."

Anna grimaces. She had a rather nice knife before, but she lost it on that last spice run.

"How you holding up, kid? I can't imagine you're used to all this business with lightsabers and getting shot at every five minutes."

The concern in Greez's voice takes her off guard. She raises her eyes and finds the captain wearing a gentle expression that she hasn't seen on his face before.

"Actually, I get shot at all the time," she replies with a dry laugh. "But I have to admit, the lightsabers are new."

Greez nods.

"This crew is a great gig, kid." He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finds the right words. "Listen, I know what it's like to be all on your own. After my grandma passed, I didn't have anyone until I joined this crew. This family. I… I'd hold onto this if I were you."

"Thanks, Greez." Anna smiles delicately. "I've never had anyone help me as much as you guys have. It's so nice but…" She clasps her hands nervously at her waist. "Why? Who am I to you?"

Greez looks at her, pausing for a moment.

"There's that whole hand-of-destiny thing that Cal keeps going on about…" He shakes his head and chuckles. "But between you and me, kid, things just haven't been the same after Merrin disappeared. With you here, the ship feels a little less empty, you know?"

Anna frowns. Is that why they're helping her? Is she exploiting their sorrow over a lost crew member? A twinge of guilt twists her stomach.

"Greez, I…"

At that moment, Cere ducks into the lounge.

"Anna, a word, please?"

"Sure!" Anna says quickly.

She follows Cere into the cockpit and to the communications terminal. The other woman sits down in front of the station, pivoting the seat around to face Anna. She takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the ends of her braids. The last conversation she had with Cere here didn't exactly go smoothly.

"Hey, I'm sorry for storming out last time," Anna blurts before she can stop herself. "That was rude of me. I'm sorry if I… I'm sorry. You don't owe me any of your help."

She shifts from foot to foot as Cere regards her silently. Finally, the other woman exhales.

"I'll be honest with you, Anna. I don't agree with this aggressive course of action we've been taking. Frankly, I think we're being reckless, and trusting too many things to dumb luck. But… I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to get to the bottom of this every bit as much as you do."

Anna's eyes widen in surprise. Cere presses on in a hard, matter-of-fact tone.

"I don't know if the Force brought you to us like Cal says. Frankly, I don't care. But I do know this—flying around the galaxy trying to stop the slaughter of Force-sensitives by racing the Empire's death squads is a war we cannot win. If your vision really did happen—and that seems to be the most plausible explanation at this point—that means your father stood up to Darth Vader. Whatever organization he was a part of could be allies to us. That means finding them is our new priority. _That_ is the mission, and I won't let my feelings get in the way of seeing it through."

The former Jedi's gaze is every bit as sharp as it was on Dathomir. Anna doesn't dare breathe.

"Which reminds me." Cere swivels her chair to face the screen, and Anna finally notices the lines of scrolling text on the comm terminal. "I managed to decrypt some of the data BD-1 pulled from that Imperial archive."

Excitement flares in Anna's chest. "What did you find?"

Several lines of text become highlighted with white boxes at Cere's key-presses.

"There isn't very much of it, but an impressive amount of the data is uncorrupted. The droid was clever with his search algorithms."

Anna squints at the highlighted fields.

"Wait, these are coordinates, aren't they?" she gasps.

"Very good." Cere glances back toward her, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But they're more than just coordinates. It's an entire hyperlane—one not on any of the maps we had before."

"Where does it go?" Something tells Anna she already knows the answer.

"A planet in the Unknown Regions. The archive had it labeled-"

"Arendelle," she breathes.

"Arendelle," Cere nods. "The hyperlane itself was labeled with some 'Operation Dark Sea'." She lets out a hard chuckle, her dark eyes gleaming with excitement of their own. "The encryption layers were littered with warnings. This data is so classified, _how_ classified it is is classified. We're onto something big here."

"When can we go?" Anna asks excitedly.

"Nothing can stop you, huh?" For the briefest moment, Cere's hard façade cracks. "With the repairs we need for the ship, we'll be here a while," she says gently. "Go get some rest. I'll talk to the captain about finding this hyperlane."

Anna turns to leave the cockpit, practically vibrating with excitement. Her heart thunders in her ears. This is it. It's finally happening.

It was only a week ago that she first stepped foot on this ship, yet already it feels like an entirely different life. The Anna before that day had a simpler existence, without Jedi and stormtroopers and Inquisitors. Now she's looked death in the eye, not to mention bee beaten up and shot at more times than she wants to remember.

She's done her own share of killing, too. She grimaces at the thought.

She walks into her bedroom and closes the door. Sitting on the edge of the cot, she reaches into her cloak and retrieves Sir Jorgenbjorgen, staring absently down into the doll's tiny button-eyes. The answers that have evaded her for thirteen years are so close now, closer than she's ever dared to dream before. But more than that, for the first time in her life, she's surrounded by people who actually _care_ about her. As she turns to look in the cockpit's direction through the pale wall of the bedroom, a smile stretches the corners of her lips.

She has friends.

Even if she's only a replacement. She sighs, pushing down the nagging sense of guilt with a frown.

Suddenly, the full fatigue of the day hits her like a sack of bricks. Kicking off her boots and shrugging out of her cloak, she flops onto the bed still wearing her travel gear. As her mouth opens in a jaw-cracking yawn, she decides she doesn't care. Crawling atop the deliciously soft mattress, she barely makes it to the pillow before her eyelids flutter closed.

* * *

"_... wake up, wake up, wake up!"_

"_Anna, go back to sleep!"_

"_I just can't! The sky's awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!"_

"_Go play by yourself!"_

"_Do you wanna build a snowman?"_

Anna's eyes open and she finds herself nose-to-nose with Greez's scruffy face.

"Agh!" She scrambles backward on the mattress, clutching the blanket to her chest.

"You were talking in your sleep," Greez states, chuckling. "Weirdo."

"Really?" Anna furrows her brow in concentration, trying desperately to hold on to the dream, but the voices are already fading from her memory. "What did I say?"

"Something about waking up. Saved me the trouble. You snore, by the way." The Latero turns to leave. "We're about to make the jump through that hyperlane of yours, figured you'd want to be awake for this bit," he announces as he steps out of the bedroom.

Anna sits up on the bed, grimacing as she pulls stray strands of hair out of her mouth. How they got there with her hair still braided is a mystery for another time. Pulling on her shoes, she steps out into the cabin to find the familiar void of space greeting her from the windows. Apparently, she's managed to sleep through the whole takeoff.

"You're up!" Cal greets, rotating the copilot's seat to face her.

"How long was I out?" Anna asks with a yawn, stretching her arms behind her head and groaning as she feels the vertebrae of her neck pop in sequence.

"We left Nal Hutta six hours ago," Cal laughs, "and that was _after_ all the repairs, refueling, and a fresh paint job."

Anna freezes. Was she really out for that long?

"Where are we now?" she asks sheepishly.

"We just jumped from Dantooine," Cere chimes from the comms station. "The hyperspace route from BD-1's data starts here."

Greez flicks two switches on the dashboard in front of him, starting a deep whine that reverberates through the hull. BD-1 scurries to the scomp port on the copilot dash and inserts his leg into the keyhole.

"All plugged in, BD?" Greez asks as he moves his hand to grip the throttle. "Let's see what this secret route is all about." He glances over his shoulder toward Anna. "Sit down, kid. This one might be rough."

Anna barely has time to comply before Greez pushes the throttle lever all the way down. The floor shakes as the hyperdrive screams to life from the stern, plastering the stars beyond the cockpit into blurred streaks of light.

This time, the shaking doesn't stop—it only gets stronger. The captain's knuckles are white as he clutches the control sticks on the arms of the pilot's seat, the hull around them rattling and groaning with sounds of straining metal at a decidedly concerning volume.

"Nuts, unstable calibration vector!" Greez growls. "And we _just_ spent an arm and a leg to have the central hub realigned."

"You look like you can spare a few of those, Greez," Cal quips. Anna barks a laugh despite her churning stomach.

"Ha ha, laugh it—_yeesh!_" Greez yelps, jerking the sticks hard to avoid a massive shadow jutting into the swirling tunnel ahead of them.

Anna grabs hard onto the edge of the bench, her eyes just about popping out of her head. What was _that?_

"We just left range of all emergency comm arrays," Cere shouts. "We're on our own out here."

"Better hope your droid didn't skip a node in the hyperlane data," Greez grumbles to Cal as the ship whips around a gut-wrenching bend.

BD-1 lets out a disgruntled string of beeps from his position jacked into the scomp port on the dash. Anna's stomach does an unpleasant flip as the _Mantis _skirts around another half-corporeal shape looming from the electric blue miasma. The edge of the inky blob seems to bend and distort as it zooms past the window.

"What _are_ those things?" she asks fearfully.

"Mass-shadows," Cere replies. "Gravity wells from stars and planets cast images into hyperspace. Hyperlanes usually try to avoid them."

"_Usually,"_ Greez mutters.

"What happens if we hit one?" Anna asks in a small voice.

"What happens if we hit a planet?" Cere deadpans.

"Oh."

She hugs herself a little tighter. At least now she's too nervous to throw up. The ship careens around another bend.

"Greez, look out!" Cal exclaims.

Anna's heart stops at the sight of the two arcing black walls speeding toward them from the tunnel ahead.

"Hold onto your butts," Greez says in a hard tone, pulling hard on the flight sticks.

The ship spins around at a dizzying rate, aligning with the tiny crack of blue between the surfaces of roiling darkness. The cabin lights flicker as the _Mantis _threads the gauntlet, and for a brief instant Anna swears she sees everything around her distort outward like space itself is being stretched. Greez continues to rotate the ship, coaxing the ungainly dorsal fin jutting out the top of the hull through the twisting black corridor by a terrifyingly narrow margin.

Then the walls are gone, opening up to reveal to the familiar blue tunnel of the hyperlane once more. The cockpit is silent for what feels like ages, interrupted only by the continuing groans of protest from the hull. Finally, Greez lets out a sigh.

"Did we make it?" he asks nobody in particular.

Suddenly, the ship's rotation jerks to a halt.

"Whoa!" Greez shouts, fighting the flight sticks.

BD-1 lets out a rapid series of chirps.

"He says this is the end of the route!"

Cal barely has the chance to finish his translation before the glowing blue whirlpool in front of them tears open with a blast that shakes the ship, enveloping them in the dark void of realspace. For a moment, the only sound in the cabin is the falling whine of the hyperdrive as it spins down. Anna struggles to calm her rapid breathing, clenching her teeth as her stomach does acrobatic flips.

"Yeah, let's not do that again," Cal says shakily.

"Gonna have to if we want to get back to civilization," Greez replies in a grim tone. He taps buttons on one of the dashboards to his left, frowning. "Where the heck are we, anyway?"

Anna stands from the bench, walking forward into the cockpit until she's right up against the glass.

"We're here," she murmurs. A faint sense of vertigo pushes at her perception, like she's straining to grab onto something that's just out of reach. She's so close.

A panorama of inky darkness dotted with stars fills her vision, punctured by the bright point of a yellow-white sun. Long, iridescent wisps streak the spaces between the stars, pulsing with shifting kaleidoscopes of colour. The sight makes her excited, giddy like a child.

The sky's awake.

"Anna, do you know this place?" Cere asks from behind her.

"I know those lights…" she murmurs, almost in a trance. "I think… I think I've been here before."

"If the archive data is correct, we should be somewhere in the G4 sector," Cere says.

"Well. The lights are pretty and all, but there's nothing here, kid," Greez huffs.

In the distance, a soft white glimmer catches Anna's eye.

"Look, over there!" she exclaims.

"Looks like a planet." Cal leans over the dashboard, squinting.

BD-1 chirps and hops excitedly as he projects several lines of code into the air.

"Arendelle," Anna breathes. The little droid gives a happy trill as she rubs the top of his head affectionately. "That must be it! Greez, can you take us closer?"

"Aye aye." Greez eases the throttle forward and the roar of the engines increases in volume. "Next stop, random planet in the middle of nowhere."

The pale orb grows slowly through the forward window. Two moons orbit at a distance, amber crescents lit from the left by the light of the distant sun. The cockpit drifts back into silence for a while.

"Anna, what do you think you'll find there?" Cal asks softly.

Anna doesn't answer immediately. She takes a long breath. "Answers."

She doesn't take her eyes off the planet. It's close enough now that she can see fractured continents formed from shards of grey and green, blanketed by dense swathes of cloud, interlaced by deep blue waters. Glittering caps of snow stretch down from the poles in gradients of white.

"No transceiver activity on any of our operable frequencies," Cere reports. "Either this place is uninhabited, or they don't use the same comms tech as the rest of the galaxy."

Unease trickles into Anna's mind like cold water. As she continues to stare at the approaching planet, she begins to make out dark imprints marring the surface under the cloud cover. Craters. Faint smears of grey extend out from the circular scars, stretching uniformly parallel to the equator, giving them the image of falling meteors.

The craters are everywhere.

She feels a small four-fingered hand rest on top of hers on the dash.

"You sure you want to go down there, kid?" Greez asks gently. She gives a firm nod. The captain removes his hand. "Alright. Grab some seat."

"Here." Cal gets up from his chair with a lopsided smile. "You know where we're going better than I do."

Anna plops herself down into the seat, watching as the blue-green marble widens into an arcing horizon that fills the cockpit window. The _Mantis _skirts along the boundary between day and night, dipping down beneath the highest of the thin clouds. Translucent waves of vapour part before the bow, showering the cockpit glass with a fine haze of ice crystals. As the yacht punches below the final layers of cloud, rays of sun wash over her face, and her breath catches.

The landscape below is shattered. Windswept plains of fragmented stone stretch into the sunrise, clad in brown-green overgrowth speckled with patches of more vibrant colour. At this altitude, the crater edges form jagged mountain ranges that curl inward like the teeth of colossal sand worms, hanging over vast pools of opaque shadow. Snow glimmers from the tips of the mountaintops, glimmering clear and grey under a cold blue sky.

She knows this place.

"Keep going north, toward the snow," she murmurs to Greez.

The captain raises a questioning eyebrow but pushes down on the flight sticks nonetheless, easing the _Mantis _lower toward the ground. Mountain peaks pass close below as the clouds grow denser. Green is replaced with grey and white as the air fills with drifting motes of ice. Structures peek up from the snow-covered hillsides—broken girders of stone and metal, reaching for the sky amidst fields of rubble like the rib cages of enormous beasts, long dead. Something hurts inside at the sight.

This isn't what home is supposed to look like.

"You all right, kid?"

Anna blinks rapidly to clear unbidden tears from her vision.

"Can we land here?" she asks stiffly.

Greez holds her gaze for a moment before nodding. "Sure, I'll find us a spot."

The ship takes a steep dive beneath the shadow of a towering mountain, taller than all the surrounding ones. Snow and ice obscure the cockpit as the craggy ground rises to meet them, stirred up by the blast of the _Mantis's_ exhaust wind. The landing gear crunches softly as it meets the frozen ground, and the engines spin down with a fading whistle.

"Atmosphere looks breathable from here," Greez says, poking at one of the ceiling displays.

"That's good enough for me," Anna answers, leaping up from the seat.

She dashes back to her quarters to grab her gear. Pulling the strap of her blaster holster tight across her chest, she throws her cloak over her shoulders and begins stuffing her hair into the hood.

"Can I come with you?"

She finds Cal standing in the doorway, poncho already in hand.

"Don't you mean 'can we?'" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

BD-1 pokes over Cal's shoulder with two short beeps.

"I'll take that as a yes." Cal grins, pulling on the poncho with practised speed.

Anna nods, and they walk side-by-side back into the cabin to the familiar jingle of Cal's lightsaber. Cere is waiting for them at the exit.

"Be careful out there, both of you." The older woman looks to Cal first before her gaze settles on Anna. "I hope you find what you're looking for. For all our sakes."

Cere strikes the exit button with her fist and the door cracks open with a howl of icy wind. Flakes of snow swirl in from outside, melting in tiny points of cold as they land on Anna's face. She hesitates a moment in front of the open doorway, glancing sideways toward Cal.

"You ready?"

"I was gonna ask you."

"I was born ready."

Squinting in determination, she steps out into the snow.


	10. The Mountain

**The Mountain**

She really should have brought a thicker coat before coming out here.

They've been climbing for at least an hour now. She glances back every once in a while, toward the dwindling form of the _Mantis's _dorsal fin jutting from the base of the valley amidst the white and grey. A sharp wind blows against her from the summit ahead, cutting through her meager cloak in icy daggers. Despite the snow swirling down from the sky, the air is crisp and clear, and her eyes follow the curving slope of the mountain looming ahead, all the way up to where its jagged peak pierces the heavy clouds.

She has no idea where she's going, but that's no excuse to stop walking.

"Anna, where are we going?" There's a hint of exasperation in Cal's tone as he scans the horizon with a pair of clunky-looking binoculars.

"Up," she answers determinedly.

"Yeah, I got that. And what's up there, exactly?"

"Some buildings. Destroyed ones."

"Right."

Snow-glazed shards of gravel crunch underfoot. She glances over her shoulder to see Cal give himself a shake under his poncho, rubbing his arms as his breath fogs in the air.

"Any particular reason we're so far north?" he groans, returning the binoculars to the folds of his coat. "Looked like there were nice tropical meadows closer to the equator. Probably destroyed buildings there, too, don't you think?"

"It's not so bad here," Anna says defensively. "I think I'm starting to get used to it!" She tries not to let her own shivering carry into her voice.

Cal folds his arms over his chest.

"Anna, be honest with me. Do you have any idea what we're going to find up there?" He raises his hands placatingly at her indignant glare. "I'm only asking because _last_ time I waltzed into an ancient ruin, I almost got my head taken off by a bunch of angry warrior robots shooting giant energy beams out of their chests."

Anna's eyebrows fly up. "You what?"

"Don't try to change the topic," Cal deadpans.

She lets out a defeated sigh.

"Look, I don't know anything about this place, this mountain… but it's like my body remembers even though my brain doesn't. Those ruins are calling to me, I can't explain it. You said I might be Force-sensitive. What if this is the Force trying to show me something?"

Cal's expression turns sober. "Just promise you'll be careful."

"I promise." Anna flashes a grin. "Besides, if there _are_ killer robots, sounds like you've already got experience."

"Somehow that doesn't reassure me." Cal gives a rueful shake of his head.

She turns back toward the peak. The sight of the first of the skeletal ruins poking into view from behind the mountain's sharp spine sends a thrill of excitement through her, and she lengthens her strides with renewed vigor. As she continues to climb, an entirely different thought tickles the back of her mind.

"Cal, how long has it been since Nightsister Merrin disappeared?"

Cal hops deftly from rock to rock beside her, seeming to defy gravity with each leap. At her words, he falters briefly.

"Five months and three days." There's a tremor in his voice.

"You really think she's still out there? After all this time?"

Cal takes a flying leap over a crevasse as Anna struggles to climb around it. How does he make it look so easy?

"She isn't dead," he states stubbornly. "I would've felt that."

Anna tightens her grip over the edge of a large stone, pulling herself over with a grunt.

"Were you and Merrin together?" she blurts.

Cal glances sharply at her, stopping in his tracks. A crease forms in his brow as he absently brushes snow from his poncho.

"It's complicated," he finally says. Pursing his lips, he turns and resumes his hike, clearly looking to end the conversation.

"Do I remind you of her?" Anna doesn't know what has her feeling so bold, but the words slip out before she can stop them.

Cal is silent for so long she begins to wonder if her question was drowned out by the wind. When he does reply, she has to strain her ears to make out the words.

"No, you don't. But that's probably a good thing."

The silence returns, heavier than before. As they continue to climb, Anna's legs begin to scream with fatigue. Abruptly, she's struck with a strange sense of unease.

There isn't a single tree on the mountainside. There should be trees.

"Something isn't right here," she mutters.

"What the matter?"

"There should be trees."

The wind ruffles Cal's hair as he glances around.

"Well, the craters definitely aren't a good sign. Looks like this planet was hit by a meteor shower fairly recently."

Anna squints up at the sky, and the sense of unease swells like a wave. For an instant, the clouds aren't grey, but black. She blinks, and a sudden flash of red sears down behind her eyelids.

Her foot catches the edge of a rock and she flails her arms to stop herself from tumbling into a crevasse. What is happening to her?

"Cere said the hyperlane data was labeled 'Operation Dark Sea,'" she says, scrutinizing the terrain as she cautiously places her next step. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Doesn't ring any bells, but I'm no expert on Imperial operations." Cal's eyebrows knit together with concern as he searches her gaze. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

She glances back to the sky to find the clouds the same pale grey as before. Great, now the dreams won't even wait until she's fallen asleep.

She takes a deep breath and keeps climbing.

When they finally crest the ridge, she collapses onto the side of a large boulder to catch her breath. The snow has stopped, but the mountain air still bites at every centimeter of exposed skin, and the sweat dampening her clothes only accentuates the cold. She hugs herself tightly, shivering as her breath is whisked away by the wind.

"Anna," Cal calls. "You might want to come see this."

With effort, she pushes herself off the rock and follows Cal's finger with her eyes.

"Whoa."

The view from the air did no justice to the true scale of the ruins now laid out before her. A clear ray of sunlight shines through a crack in the clouds, illuminating the mountainside in a golden swath. Walls of smooth marble extend from the slope, seemingly hewn from the very stone itself. Rising from behind them, a single broken spire of clear blue crystal twists toward the sky, entwined with girders of gleaming silver and casting scattered prisms of light down onto a glossy field of mangled grey and black.

The wind changes directions and a faint hum resonates through the air. It takes her a moment to realize the sound is coming from the tower.

"Is that _ice?_" Cal asks, his jaw swinging like a door hinge.

"Come on!" Anna cries excitedly, adjusting her cloak around her shoulders. Suddenly, the cold doesn't seem to matter nearly as much.

The slope on the other side of the ridge is steep, but she moves with a new reckless abandon, hopping between rocks and leaping over crevasses, heedless of the fatigue in her muscles. As she draws closer to the ruins, details resolve on the surface of the marble walls: long, straight scars where the stone has been carved away; vast spiderwebs of fractures, the cracks gleaming black and glassy; entire missing sections that have completely crumbled into the snow. The crystal tower casts a long shadow over her, showering her with shards of refracted light. A jagged slab of bedrock the length of the _Mantis _protrudes from its side, lodged between the silver struts like a javelin thrown by some giant.

Only when she turns her gaze down into the valley does she realize she's standing right on the edge of a crater. The bowl of flattened stone stretches so far into the distance that it fades into the mists.

Footsteps crunch up behind her.

"So, what's the plan now?"

"We go inside," Anna says, setting her jaw.

Cal sighs theatrically and turns to face the closest of the marble walls. Taking two steps back to wind up, he dashes forward and throws himself into a flying leap. Just as he's about to slam face-first into the hard stone, he flips upward into a second jump that _definitely_ defies physics, reaching up and grasping onto the top of the ledge. Pulling himself onto the wall, he casually dusts off his knees.

"You coming?" he calls down with a laugh.

"Show-off!" Anna huffs.

Scrambling around to the nearest break that she can find in the shattered wall, she clambers through the narrow crack, having to stop several times to untangle her cloak from the jagged stone edges. Emerging on the other side, she finds Cal already waiting for her on the ground.

"_You_ sure know how to find the most difficult way to get over a wall," she mutters.

"Seemed pretty easy to me," Cal says with a teasing smirk.

Anna rolls her eyes, shouldering past him with a good-natured shove—only to immediately lose her footing on the mirror-smooth floor.

"Yeesh!" she shrieks, throwing her arms out to stop herself from falling flat on her back.

"Whoa, careful!" Hands grab her shoulders, steadying her. She looks down at her feet and does a double take.

The entire palace floor is made of a single sheet of perfect, iridescent ice, so thick that the sunlight filtering in from the cracked ceiling disappears in its depths before ever hitting bedrock. Broken girders twist overhead, casting gnarled shadows onto the reflective surface. Raising her eyes, she finds the walls of the chamber largely crumbled except for the base of the tower directly ahead.

BD-1 lets out a faint series of beeps.

"What is this place?" Cal does a slow spin as he takes in the surroundings, his breath pluming in the still air.

Anna ventures toward the center of the vast chamber, marvelling at how her boots cast deep shadows down into the heart of the ice.

Above them, the wind shifts.

The tower sings its haunting note again, the sound reverberating down through the open ceiling and off the hard stone walls in a chorus of echoes. The sounds don't fade like they should—instead, they only seem to grow louder, pressing down into her head like a physical pressure, but it's not painful, it's… familiar.

She's vaguely aware of her legs carrying her forward in stiff, purposeful strides.

"Anna, where are you…"

Cal's voice registers in her ears, but it's drowned out by the ringing of the tower. Arcing double doors of translucent black ice gleam from the apex of a tall twin staircase at the other end of the chamber, beckoning to her with a mysterious pull. The black arch of the doorway grows in her vision as the world fades into the background. The wind isn't blowing anymore, but the note still sings in her ears with perfect resonance, and she can hear nothing else.

She reaches the base of the stairs and her feet lift of their own accord, carrying her up the obsidian steps slowly, reverently. She reaches the closed doors. There's a symbol etched into their center—a four-pointed star formed by fractal patterns like those of a snowflake, cut in half by the door seam. Time slows as her hand moves into view, fingers extending as they're pulled in by the star's gravity.

For an instant, the symbol seems to glow. The points of the star sear into her eyes.

_Air. Water. Fire. Earth._

The ringing in her ears resolves into a voice. She can't make out the words, can't understand the language even though she _knows_ that voice, knows those words…

Her fingers brush the cold surface of the ice and the center of the star flashes blindingly bright.

_She's sitting on soft cushions in front of a roaring fireplace. The room is spacious, with walls of ornately-carved stone that stretch to a high, vaulted ceiling. Sunlight streams in from a window somewhere to the left, splashing the dark floorboards in front of her with streaks of amber._

"_Anna? Are you paying attention?"_

_She turns her head to find a blond-haired man gazing down at her with his hands clasped behind his back, his sea-green eyes twinkling with amusement in spite of his reprimanding tone._

"_Yes, Papa," she feels herself say. She bounces with impatience. "There are four spirits of nature, and when I grow up I'm gonna be one of them!"_

"_Anna, that's not what Papa said!" another child's voice chides from beside her. She tries to turn her head and get a look at the source of the voice, but her body isn't obeying her commands._

_Her father shakes his head, chuckling._

"_I see Iduna's been telling you bedtime stories again. She really needs to stop filling your heads with those fantasies."_

"_There are four _elements _of nature—Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water," the other child pipes, as if reciting from a book. "As Arendellians, we must each find our element and learn to control it."_

"_Very good, Elsa. Each of us came from nature, and there is a piece of nature within each of us—but it's up to you to find out what part of nature that piece came from."_

_Her hands clap together and she squeals gleefully. "Show me again! Do the magic, Papa, do the magic!"_

"_Anna! Be quiet when Papa is teaching!"_

"_It's alright, Elsa," her father laughs. "I have a feeling she'll learn better this way."_

_He walks around the room until he's in front of her, his thin moustache curling in a lopsided smile. She feels a gust of warm wind ruffle her clothes as he raises his hand and suddenly she's floating off the ground, her short pigtails tickling her face as they're battered by the whirling air hoisting her up. Her father lowers his arm and she plops back onto the cushions, giggling uncontrollably. He crouches down, gently brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face._

"_It's not just magic. It's part of who you are." His tone grows stern. "There are people far away beyond the stars who may fear us for what we do, but your powers are your birthright as a daughter of Arendelle."_

"_But Papa, when will I know what my powers are?" she hears herself ask._

"_Soon, my sunbeam. Soon."_

"_Will they be like Elsa's?"_

"_Maybe, maybe not." Her father ruffles her hair before standing back up, getting another burst of giggles out of her. "But the four elements are not all that nature has to offer," he continues, his tone returning to that of an instructor._

_He walks over to the fireplace, where a sword hangs above the ridged mantelpiece—a long, straight-edged blade of white steel sprouting from between forward-angling crossguards. Carefully retrieving the sword with both hands, her father turns with the weapon held horizontally in front of him._

"_There is a fifth element. Though it lives within all of us, few can feel it, because unlike the others, it has no physical form. We call it _Ahtohallan."

_A spark of white lightning flashes along the length of the blade._

"_Think of it like a bridge connecting the elements. Only those who learn to hear it, to understand it, may harness the true potential of nature."_

_Flickering embers float off the edges of the blade even as frost crawls over the silver metal. A tremor runs through the ground and a blast of wind dims the flames of the fireplace._

"_Every ruler of Arendelle must find Ahtohallan. Only then will you be able to hear the will of nature, to guide our people with the help of the elements. As princesses of Arendelle, you will be trained to hear the call."_

_Her father shifts his grip on the sword. The air calms, the fireplace regaining its warm glow as the embers and frost fade from the gleaming surface of the blade._

"_Whoa, Papa… that was _epic_," she gasps._

"_What will the training be like?" the other girl asks quietly._

_Her own eyes remain fixed on her father as he places the sword back in its slot over the fireplace mantel before turning back to face them with a smile. Damn it, why can't she turn her head?_

"_Yelena, the Priestess of the Earth, will begin your training tomorrow, Elsa. Until then, focus on your emotions. As my own mentor once told me, fear will be your enemy."_

"_What about me?" she hears herself ask excitedly._

"_Anna, while your sister begins her training, Mathias will take you up the North Mountain to the Temple of Ice. Perhaps something will call to you there."_

_The last words are thick, as if her ears are suddenly plugged with sponges. The sunlight fades, casting the walls into shadow. She finds she can move again, so she stands and turns around in the deepening darkness, but the other girl is gone._

"_You shouldn't be here." Her father's words are tinged with regret._

_She whirls back to face him. Shadows hang from his cheeks like black curtains. It's too dark to see the floor._

"_Why don't I remember you?" she whispers. She hears her own cherubic voice as if from a great distance._

"_It was the only way we could protect you." Her father's eyes are downcast, his form translucent, evaporating into the surrounding void._

"_Wait, no!" she cries. "Don't leave me!"_

_His eyes lock with hers, the only remaining light in the abyss._

"_Be strong, my sunbeam."_

_Then her father is gone. She tries to shout, to dash forward, but her body is gone, too._

"... Anna, _Anna!_"

Her eyes snap open as the icy doors part beneath her palm with a shuddering boom. She flinches backward, yelping as her heel slips on the edge of the stairs. Footsteps rush up behind her. Cal appears beside her on the stone platform, breathing heavily, his right hand placed warily over the hilt of his lightsaber.

"That door could have been booby-trapped, you know," he says in a disgruntled tone.

Heart thudding in her ears, Anna jerks her head between the broken walls of the palace—_temple—_finally settling her eyes on the open doors in front of her.

"Cal, how long have I been standing here?" she asks, grabbing his shoulders urgently.

Cal flinches back in confusion.

"What do you mean? You came up the stairs and pushed the doors open."

"No I didn't, I…" She strains her ears. She can't hear the tower ringing anymore. Instinctively, she pats herself on the chest. Still solid. Still real. "I was somewhere else," she breathes.

Cal's eyes widen. "Another vision?"

She nods. "I saw my father again—and someone else. A girl. I think she was my sister."

A part of her knows she should be terrified of what just happened, but she isn't. The vision feels _right_ in her head, like finally grasping onto a scene from a half-forgotten dream.

Or a memory.

Moving forward, she traces her fingers over the half-star on one of the tall doors.

"I think I've been here before," she whispers.

"Anna-"

She steps inside.

The room beyond is lit only by the dim shards of light filtering through the fissures in the tower far above. The long piece of bedrock she saw from outside looms overhead, so much bigger up close, the silver girders supporting it creaking precariously in the mountain winds. The floor here is cracked into slabs, with deep fissures running through the dark ice. A dais rises from the enter of the room, looking like it might once have held a statue.

"Anna, are you sure this is a good idea?" Cal hisses from behind her.

She ignores him, taking cautious steps into the chamber and toward the pedestal. Cal moves up beside her, his face drawn into tight lines.

"Something's off about this place," he mutters, pulling the lightsaber from his belt and twirling it in his hand.

A thin beam of sunlight streams down from a fracture above, glinting off the edges of something engraved around the base of the dais. As Anna draws closer, she realizes they're symbols—diamond-shaped runes like the tips of the star on the doors behind them. She crouches down, running her bare fingertips over the cold ice.

"What do they mean?" Cal asks quietly. "Can you read them?"

"They're… spirits. The elements. See here?" She points to the symbols one by one, stopping at the one etched with the heaviest grooves. "Earth, Wind, Fire, and _Water_. This is a temple of ice."

Cal crouches down beside her, passing the lightsaber over to his gloved hand. "Here, let me try something."

"What are you doing?"

"Listening."

Closing his eyes, Cal presses the fingers of his right hand to one of the runes with a slow exhale. At first, nothing happens. Then a faint glow begins to emanate from the runes. An angry glow.

_Trespasser._

The word has no sound, but it's the loudest thing Anna's ever heard. A deep tremor runs through the floor of the chamber. Cal's eyes snap open and he hisses, scrambling away from the pedestal and clutching his hand as if it's been burned. His face is deathly pale.

"Anna, we're not welcome here," he says, panic in his voice.

"What did you-"

Her reply is cut short as the chamber floor quakes violently beneath her feet. Two orbs of piercing blue flicker into existence from the shadows across the chamber. A low rumble like the grating of stone on stone fills the air.

Those are eyes.

A mountainous form rises from the darkness, so immense that its figure blots out the sunlight. Her hand flies to her blaster as Cal's lightsaber ignites with a shriek.

"Time to go," Cal yells, backing toward the doorway with his eyes fixed on… whatever that thing is.

A deafening roar shakes the tower. Anna barely has time to pull her pistol free of the holster as a gargantuan limb cleaves down at her like a falling tree. She whirls and makes a dash for the doorway, feeling a gust of wind as the fist smashes into the floor behind her with the force of a boulder.

Whatever it is, it's definitely not friendly.

"Cal, what did you do!" she shouts, skidding back into the main chamber and taking the stairs two at a time. She isn't fast enough.

The steps disintegrate beneath her as the wall explodes, sending shards of ice and marble raining down around her. For an instant she's weightless, then _pain _as the unforgiving ice of the chamber floor meets her body like a fist, knocking the blaster out of her grip. Gasping for breath, she pushes herself off the ground and sees a monster.

In the ruins of the doorway stands an enormous beast of snow and ice. Thick arms tipped with wicked crystalline claws converge to a hulking boulder of a torso, gleaming white under the light of the broken temple ceiling. The head, not quite separate from the body, glowers down with hollow eyes and a toothless maw, blasting her with its icy breath as it bellows wordless fury.

She scoots back across the glassy-smooth floor, feeling frantically for her pistol. Cal steps in front of her, his lightsaber held horizontally in both hands. Finally closing her fingers around her blaster, she scrambles to her feet.

"Should we make a run for it?" she whispers out of the corner of her mouth.

"On three," Cal whispers back. "One, two-"

Two blaster shots echo through the chamber, flashing scarlet off the ice as the bolts strike the beast in the chest, sending small puffs of smoke and snow. Cal's shoulders tense.

"Anna, _why_ did you-"

"Three!" Anna pipes meekly, quickly lowering her smoking barrel.

The beast lets out its most enraged roar yet. Spines of ice jut out from every surface on its body, filling its mouth with rows upon rows of wicked teeth. All this she notices in the split second before she turns to sprint for the split in the temple wall with the footfalls of the beast following behind her like seismic charges. Reaching the crack, she shoves herself through as fast as she can manage, heedless of how the jagged stones tear at her cloak.

She bursts through to the other side just as the entire wall disintegrates around her. BD-1 screams from somewhere close by right before Cal comes flipping over her head, carving a trail through the snow as he tumbles to a halt on the mountainside. A quick glance over her shoulder confirms the beast has smashed through the solid-stone wall with the same ease as if it was made of paper. Fixing her eyes on Cal, she forces her screaming legs to pump faster.

"Cal, get up!"

Standing in front of his prone form, she turns and raises her blaster defiantly toward the beast.

"It is not nice to _throw people!_" she yells, firing another shot.

The bolt glances off a shard of ice protruding from the monster's shoulder. It doesn't even seem to notice. Beside her, Cal pushes himself to his knees, then to his feet with a pained grunt.

"You just… _had _to shoot the big snowman… huh?" he groans, pulling his lightsaber out of the air and igniting it with a twirl.

The creature lumbers toward them, rattling Anna's knees with each gargantuan step.

"It's getting closer!" she shouts.

"Get back to the ship," Cal hisses.

"Oh, don't you start this with me again."

Cal gives his blade another twirl and takes three firm strides forward, keeping his eyes on the beast.

"Fine, you can stay. Just stay _back._"

Then the monster is upon him. Cal bends backward, narrowly dodging a swipe from the beast's meter-long claws before throwing himself forward into a roll that brings him between its legs. The lightsaber hums, hissing as it severs several spines from the beast's back. With a bellow of rage, the creature spins and strikes at Cal with a backhand. Cal leaps backward, landing in a crouch just out of the beast's reach.

For a moment, Cal and the beast simply stare at each other. Cal begins to back up, holding his lightsaber up in a defensive stance. Abruptly, he turns and breaks into a sprint, the lightsaber blade extinguishing in his hand. The beast roars and takes pursuit, arms held out in front of it.

What is Cal doing? He's running straight for the edge of the crater!

Anna's heart thuds harder in her chest. Gritting her teeth, she directs another two shots at the back of the beast's head, but she might as well be throwing snowballs for all the effect they're having.

Right before he runs out of ground, Cal digs his feet in and skids to a halt. The monster bears down on him, arms carving inward in the galaxy's deadliest hug. At the last possible moment, Cal reignites his blade, throwing himself into a knee-slide with his back bent so far it's practically parallel to the ground. Green plasma drones through the air, carving clean through the beast's right leg at the thigh. The creature teeters for a moment, grunting in confusion as it stares down at its missing limb.

Scrambling to his feet behind the beast, Cal raises his arms and throws both hands toward the creature's back. The air between them shimmers, compressed by an invisible force as it blasts outward in a shockwave. The beast teeters off the lip of the crater with a panicked roar and tumbles out of sight in a cloud of snow.

Cal takes a long glance over the edge of the crater, slowly cliping his lightsaber back onto his belt. After exchanging a look with BD-1, he jogs back up to Anna.

"Can we go back now?"

"I like that plan," Anna answers dazedly.

A series of crashes and bellows continues to sound in the distance. With a final nervous glance over his shoulder, Cal takes off down the mountain at a brisk jog. This time, Anna has no trouble matching his pace.

* * *

**This is the part where I massage the _Frozen_ lore into the _Star Wars_ universe. Also, Space!Marshmallow.**


	11. The Crater

**The Crater**

Her hair hangs around her face in a tangled mess. Her shirt sticks to her back, still slick with sweat from her sprint down the mountainside. Purple slices of jorgan fruit sit untouched on the plate in her peripheral vision as she stares blankly down at the scuffed durasteel dining table.

"You just climbed a mountain, kid." Greez pushes the plate gently towards her. "You should eat something."

Anna shoots back a feeble smile. "Sorry, just a lot on my mind."

She picks up a slice and takes a small bite. Her stomach churns in protest. Her tongue tastes the fruit's sweetness, but it still feels like she's eating rubber. There's just too much going on in her brain for her to focus on the food.

Raising her gaze out the thin windows lining the cabin, she watches specks of snow drift down outside the glass. She sees a fireplace through the white and grey. This place was once her home. She had a family here: a father, a mother. A sister.

_Elsa. _The name echoes like a lyric to a long-forgotten song. It's so fitting, so familiar—yet as hard as she tries, she can't see her face. Why can't she _remember _anything?

_It was the only way we could protect you._

The parting words of her father's specter echo hauntingly, as mysterious as ever.

"Anna? You alright?"

She startles at the sound of Cal's voice. Her hand is sticky. Looking down, she discovers she's crushed the remaining half of the jorgan slice between her fingers. Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she hastily stuffs the half-pulped fruit in her mouth, wiping away the purple juice running down the back of her hand with a napkin.

The embarrassment only manages to distract her for an instant before different, more recent memories rise in her mind. The shattered temple. The obsidian dias. The inhuman fury in the monstrous golem's eyes.

"Cal, what did you see when you touched the pedestal?" she asks quietly.

The amusement in Cal's expression immediately disappears. The muscles of his jaw tense visibly.

"I saw… well, I'm not sure exactly what I saw. The sky was black. Everything was burning, so much smoke. There was this feeling—this feeling of total _loss_. It was like I was watching Master Topal die all over again, but laid over a completely different scene."

There is pain in Cal's eyes. He pauses before continuing in a quieter voice.

"The Force is strange here. There is power, like on Dathomir, but here it's different, broken but _alive_, somehow_._ When I touched that pedestal, it found me, and it did not like what it found."

Cal pauses, his eyebrows knitting in the middle.

"And that… snowman thing, I've never seen anything like that before. It felt like it was speaking straight into my head. One word, over and over again."

"Trespasser," Anna whispers. The hairs of the back of her neck stand up at the memory of the soundless voice.

"You heard it, too?" Cal's eyes widen.

She nods.

"Did you find what you came for, Anna?" Cere interrupts gently, leaning forward from the other side of the table. "Any more information on your father?"

Anna nods again, taking a deep breath.

"I had another vision. A memory, I think. My father was giving me a lesson, something about discovering my powers." The silver sword held between her father's hands flashes behind her eyes. She looks to Cal. "He was talking about tapping into the elements of nature, the ones represented by those runes. Was he… could he have been talking about the Force?"

Cal cups his chin thoughtfully.

"I've heard of Jedi that focused their connection to the Force to control the elements. Those were mostly in old stories from the archives, though. Master Topal never mentioned it."

"The Sith are known to use an electrical Force ability to torture their opponents," Cere adds. "The Force is a part of nature. Your people may have called it by a different name, but from what you just describe, it sounds like they were intimately familiar with it—though in a very different way from the Jedi."

"Like the Nightsisters were," Cal says in a lower voice.

"Yes. Whatever the case, it would certainly explain Darth Vader's involvement in your past." Cere grimaces at her own words, her expression pensive as she holds Anna's gaze. "Do you remember anything else?"

Anna plays through the scene again in her head. Realization hits her like a train, her eyes going wide as moons as she barks out a dazed laugh. Cere's eyebrows raise.

"My father… my father was the king!" Anna exclaims. "I'm a _princess._"

The truth is wilder than she ever dared dream. Her, a princess! Thirteen years of people treating her like scum on their boots, when she was _royalty_ all along. She fights back the urge to punch the air.

The excitement in Cere's eyes reflects her own.

"Anna, this could be huge. If your memories are right, the Empire openly attacked your father's kingdom. If there are any still loyal to him, they could be our allies in this war. We have to find the rest of your people."

"Whatever's left of them," Greez mumbles in a low voice. Anna ignores him.

"The ruins," she says quickly. "My father mentioned them in my vision. He called it the Temple of Ice, said someone named Mattias was going to take me there. That means wherever I was in the vision couldn't have been far from this mountain." She shoots a glance at Greez. "Can we take the _Mantis?_"

"If you want, kid. Was getting bored sitting down here, anyway," Greez replies with a yawn, popping another slice of fruit into his mouth and rising from the table. "Let's go do a little scouting."

Anna follows Greez into the cockpit, blood still pounding in her ears. Arriving at the bow, she leans with her palms on the dashboard as Cal takes a seat in the copilot's chair beside her. BD-1 chirps a greeting by her hand, but for once the sight of the little droid isn't enough to ease the tension in her shoulders. The thrusters kick up a cloud of powdered snow outside the windows as the engines whine to life with a few switch-flicks under Greez's fingers. Her stomach drops from the sensation of acceleration, the mountain shrinking rapidly below them as the captain eases the yacht upward into the overcast sky. Just before they hit the clouds, he pitches the ship over into a gently-curving path toward the mountain peak.

"Holler if you spot anything, kid."

"It just doesn't make any sense," Cal mutters, a deep furrow forming between his eyebrows as he leans forward over the dashboard. "How does the princess of a secluded kingdom end up on the streets in the Outer Rim?"

Anna frowns. He has a point. Surely, _someone_ would have tried to find her during all these years? As she watches the mountain peak drift by, a faint sense of dread begins to tickle the back of her mind.

The ruins of the Temple of Ice jut from the steep mountain slope, the full extent of the damage from the meteor clearly visible from this altitude. Despite the light pitter-patter of snow on the cockpit glass, the air is crystal-clear all the way to the ground. The sight of the broken spire cuts straight to her heart, its haunting beauty stirring that same mysterious sorrow that caught her attention when the _Mantis _first arrived here.

In that moment, something _clicks_.

"I know where I have to go," she breathes.

"What was that?" Greez asks, but she ignores him, her breathing quickening as her heart begins to race.

Drawn by a strange pull, her eyes trace a path down the mountain, flitting across crumbling fields of rock toward the crater. She can see it in its entirety from this height—a perfect bowl of fractured bedrock hugging the edge of the mountain range. Veins of glassy black spread out from the center of the crater in jagged radial paths, as if the planet's very crust has been injected with poison. As her eyes drift to the far lip of the crater, shapes begin to resolve from the chaotic sea of rubble. Familiar shapes.

Inklings and outlines flash over her vision—dense city streets framed by a jungle of buildings and skyscrapers, coupled with a faint sense of déjà vu. She blinks and the images are gone, leaving only debris and dust.

Then she sees it—another set of ruins sprawled over the farthest lip of the crater, much larger than the mountain temple, glimmering with hints of metallic gold in the feeble late-afternoon light. Her gaze traces along the vast arc of a castle wall, now nothing more than low mounds of stone and twisted metal. A low pressure pushes at her temples in sync with the hollow nostalgia that flares in her chest at the sight.

The royal castle. It has to be. This is the place from her dreams.

"There, over there!" she exclaims, grabbing Greez's elbow.

The captain pulls back his arm with a glare.

"Hey, not when I'm flying, kid!"

He follows Anna's finger with squinted eyes.

"Yeah, I see it. You really got a hankering for these ruins, huh? Alright, go sit yourself down, I'll bring her in."

Anna backs up in teetering steps as the _Mantis _dips into a shallow dive, her eyes never leaving the cockpit window as she eases herself down on her usual spot on the bench by the kitchenette.

"Hold on, the transceiver is picking up something, a short-range broadcast," Cere announces abruptly. She sounds surprised. "Protocols are old, Republic-era."

The holoprojector on the dashboard flickers to life. For a few seconds, the image is blank. Then a voice sounds, garbled and unintelligible.

"Is it a message?" Cal asks, leaning his ear closer to the projector.

A hologram appears—the vague shape of a man's face, distorted with corrupted rectangular artifacts. The mouth moves in time to the noise.

The pressure in Anna's head intensifies and suddenly the sounds form meaning.

"_... not an option. The guardians have fallen. This is our last stand. Ahtohallan protect us."_

The image bursts into formless static and the message starts to play again from the beginning. Anna's eyes are riveted to the holoprojector, waiting for the face to reappear, watching the pixelated mouth enunciate those same terrible words.

"Anna?"

Anna tears her gaze from the projection to find Cere regarding her with an eyebrow raised. Cal has turned from the dashboard with a matching look of confusion.

"You can understand it, can't you?" Cere says in a low voice. It doesn't sound like a question.

The realization sets in. They can't understand the message, but she can. The dread rises.

"It's a prayer," she says simply.

The pitch of the engines shifts as the _Mantis_ begins to slow. BD-1 lets out a low trill, taking in the scene below with a slow sweep of his head.

The ruins lay before them, teetering on the crater's jagged border, golden towers and parapets of mirror-smooth stone lying in scattered shards over the blackened bedrock like shattered pieces of an enormous vase.

Anna pushes herself off the bench, throwing her tattered cloak over her shoulders. Greez is gonna kill her for getting up during the landing sequence, but she just _needs _to get moving. The floor shudders as the landing gear extends, listing to one side as the yacht touches down on uneven terrain. The dread has grown into a black hole that threatens to swallow her hole from the inside out, but she forces it down with clenched teeth.

"Anna, wait up!" The sound of unclasping seatbelts is followed by the familiar jangle of a holstered lightsaber approaching from behind her. "I'm coming with you."

She nods without turning. Dashing to the exit, she punches the button to extend the ramp with a trembling fist, shielding her face from the inevitable blast of snow. Clenching her fingers to brace against the cold, she strides out into the frozen wasteland.

The ship is landed just off the jagged lip of the crater opposite the now-distant mountain. Anna's eyes flit across the landscape, taking in crumbled stone and liquified metal before she raises her gaze farther out toward the center of the ruins. The castle must have been a magnificent sight when it stood; now only the lowest of the outer walls remain intact, the rest of the structure forming a mound of gold-veined rubble so high it spills well over them in a trail of glittering debris.

She makes for the base of the ruins with a growing sense of urgency. Black, crystalline sand crunches under her boots. This place is familiar. This place is _wrong_. The strange pressure presses harder on her temples with each step. The sand beneath her feet transitions to crumbling cobblestone, jutting from the ground in haphazard slabs that threaten to twist her ankles out from under her. As she clambers over a low mound of rubble, her hand brushes aside the thin layer of snow, revealing the symbol of a three-petaled flower etched into the surface of the dark stone in delicate grooves. Her heart skips a beat.

The Crocus. Her dreams are real. It's all real.

The wind picks up, howling over the sharp edges of the ruins surrounding her and cutting through the tears in her cloak. The sound is almost like blaster bolts in flight. Almost like screams of terror. She slows as she approaches the collapsed outer wall of the castle, hugging herself tightly against more than just the cold.

"Anna, are you okay?" a gentle voice calls from behind.

She'd almost forgotten Cal is here, too. Turning, she finds him standing a few paces back, his eyes radiating concern as they swap rapidly between her and the ruins towering over them both. Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to find the right words.

"I… I need to keep going. The answers are here."

"The answers to what?" There's a hint of exasperation in Cal's tone. A hint of nervousness.

"My past. My memories. _Everything_."

"I feel something, and it's not a good feeling." Cal purses his lips tightly. Anna watches his hand edge toward the weapon at his hip. "The Force is wrong here."

"Please, Cal." Anna looks at him desperately. "I have to do this."

Cal holds her gaze for a long moment. Finally, he sighs.

"Fine. Just… be careful."

"Thank you," Anna says in relief.

She turns to look back at the ruins. The déjà vu is so powerful it's unsettling. Then something _shifts_. Abruptly, there's a direction to the familiarity, an intense sense of a destination.

Her eyes lock to a spot at the base of the mound of rubble. She needs to get there. There's never been anything else more important in her life. A tiny voice screams that this isn't normal, that this premonition is bordering on insanity—but the voice is weak, drowned out a hundred times over by an overwhelming sense of purpose.

"Anna! Where are you going?"

She's running now, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she navigates the broken cobbles in reckless bounds. The pressure in her head is unbearable but still it grows, pressing in harder with every breath she takes. Her head is going to split in half.

Her foot catches something in the rubble and she sprawls forward, cold pain searing along her palm as her hand strikes a sharp edge. She lets out a yelp, scrambling to her knees and clutching her injured hand.

"Anna!"

Cal is at her side in an instant, landing in front of her with a gust of wind and dust. Her eyes are fixed on the weeping gash along her palm. With effort she focuses on the ground, finding the snow stained with flecks of red.

Then she sees the glove.

It's draped just above a crevasse in the cobbles a few steps in front of her, right at the base of the crumbled boundary to the castle proper—a piece of plain grey leather, cracked and discoloured from exposure to the elements. Her vision darkens at the edges until she's looking through a long tunnel. She can barely lift her head now, the weight is so heavy, but she has to reach it, so she crawls toward it, heedless of her still-bleeding hand.

The cobblestones rumble beneath her.

"_Anna, no! Don't touch that!"_

Cal's voice is so far away, so easy to ignore. She's so close. She just needs to reach forward. Her fingers brush the flaking leather.

There's a hand in the glove.

Her head finally bursts.

* * *

"They've breached the outer perimeter, Your Majesty!"

She's on the floor. Everything hurts. A woman is shouting orders, her voice shrill but steady. The voice is familiar.

"You two, secure the entrance. The rest, to me!"

It's Mama's voice.

"Take my hand, Your Highness!"

A white leather glove appears in front of her face. She looks up. The man is smiling through the slots in his visor, crow's feet crinkling the corners of his eyes. She reaches up to take the hand.

An explosion. Splinters of wood shower down on her. It feels like the time she stood too close to the oven when the cook was taking out the flatbread. Searing bolts fly through the air above her head. There's a grunt of pain and the guard falls to the floor beside her. There's smoke rising off his chest. Something smells like it's burning.

She doesn't realize she's still holding on to the man's hand until she's yanked away. Strong arms scoop her up and sling her onto a soft shoulder. Another shot screams out of the smoke, exploding on a nearby wall, searing her eyes with its brightness. She holds on tightly to Mama, wanting desperately for all this to be a bad dream.

Be brave. She has to be brave. It's hard to keep the tears in through the screaming, the explosions, the glimpses of the dead and dying—but it's the last thing Papa said to her, so that is what she must do.

She clutches hard to Mama's shoulders, trying to keep her attention on the pretty patterns in her scarf. There's so much fire everywhere. She knows how dangerous fire can be. The air is sour and sharp, every breath tasting like burnt grass. She coughs and coughs, but that only makes the pain worse, so she buries her face in the scarf instead. It smells like safety and colourful flowers. If she scrunches her eyes shut she can almost imagine she's having lunch in the castle garden.

Another flash of light sears her eyes through her eyelids. Terrible noise, slamming into her like a physical force. She cries out, but she can't hear her own voice. Rubble rains down on her cheeks, the wind from the blast touseling her hair.

She opens her eyes and they blur with tears. She's not in the garden.

Familiar voices cut through the ringing in her ears.

"... Your Majesty! We'll cover you!"

More guards in plated armour like snake scales rush to take up positions around her, blocking the hallway with solid walls of white light that spread out from their shields. She sees one of the men's faces through his slotted helmet as he runs by.

"Derek, no, come with us!" she wails.

Derek turns and flashes a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, don't you worry, Princess. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

Bolts of red strike the barrier, sending ripples through the force field. There are soldiers with white, frowning helmets on the other side, helmets that don't show their eyes. Those are the bad soldiers.

"_For Arendelle!"_

The guards raise their spears and level them over their shields, sending lances of crackling green flying at the invaders. Then they're gone, blocked from view by wall after wall as she's carried away.

"Mama, where are we going?"

A gentle hand strokes her hair.

"Shh, Anna, it'll be okay, it'll be okay…"

She tries to ignore how Mama's voice is shaking. Mama is always brave. She has to be brave, too. For Papa. For Elsa.

"Mama, where's Elsa?" she whimpers.

"With Papa, dear. They… they'll join us soon."

The thought of Elsa in the courtyard surrounded by dead friends and bad soldiers is too much. She begins to sob, tears running down her cheeks and soaking into the scarf. She wipes her running nose on Mama's shoulder and immediately regrets it. This is Mama's nice scarf—she isn't supposed to get it dirty.

A door slams open. They're outside again. The smoke is thin enough here that she can see a sliver of the stars. Looking around, she recognizes this as the Secret Exit—the same route she always takes when playing hide-and-seek with Elsa. Elsa knows about it now, though, so Elsa will be able to find it. Elsa never forgets anything. She feels a bit better at the thought.

One more set of doors and they're outside the castle completely. It's not just the castle that's on fire, though; she can see the city burning over the thin bridge across the water, tongues of fire licking up the buildings, belching columns of thick black smoke. Even the clouds in the sky are black.

She's only able to see the city because Mama is carrying her away from it. The ground beneath them goes from paved stone to grass and dirt. Soon, the view is blocked by the dark silhouettes of trees.

Mama keeps running.

"Where are we _going_, Mama?" she asks.

The fingers return to stroke through her hair.

"Away, far away, my sunflower." Mama's voice hitches. "Somewhere where they won't be able to hurt you."

The forest seems the same in every direction. She jumps at every shadow. Every once in a while a boom sounds in the distance loud enough for her to reach her ears. She trembles.

Mama keeps running for a long, long time. The scarf soaks through with sweat.

The sky has begun to lighten by the time she hears the footsteps. She feels the arms holding her tighten their grip.

"Queen Iduna." The voice is low and coarse. "Was beginning to think you weren't gonna make it." There's a pause. "Weren't there supposed to be two?"

"There's no time, we have to hurry," Mama rasps, her breathing fast and laboured.

"Not so fast. Credits first."

The arms holding her drop her gently to the ground. She teeters on unsteady legs, turning to look at the man talking to Mama—only to shrink back, clinging to Mama's legs at the sight of the walking fish-monster in front of her. The thing sneers down at her as Mama taps buttons on her wrist display.

"There. That's half the royal treasury."

The fish-person nods with a huff, turning and walking off into the trees. She wants to run the other way, but Mama won't let her, instead tugging her along by the hand as she follows after the monster.

"Mama, who is that?" she squeaks in panic, stumbling over roots and fallen branches.

"He's here to help us, Anna."

Is Mama crying?

They come to a clearing in the forest. In front of them is a boxy vehicle that looks like the sky-boats the people use in the city, only bigger and much less pretty. The circular door on the twists open as they approach. The fish-man turns around, staring at her with his huge black eyes.

"Come on, princess," he grunts.

She looks up, her heart pounding as her chest tightens, making it hard to breathe.

"Mama, what does he mean?"

She feels gentle hands cup her cheeks as Mama crouches down in front of her.

"Oh, Anna…"

Mama is crying for real now, the tears falling like tiny streams from her eyes. Slowly, the fingers move up and press gently into her temples. Something's wrong. Why is Mama crying? She grabs onto Mama's wrist with both her hands as the sniffles start in her own throat.

"Mama, what's happening?"

"Shh, shh…"

For an instant, she swears Mama's hands start glowing green—then, _confusion_. Suddenly, she can't remember why she's so worried. She tries to trace back her thoughts, to focus on the moment, but nothing makes sense.

"You are Arendelle's only hope now, sunflower."

She feels a gentle kiss on her forehead through the fog. Why can't she concentrate? She starts to panic again—but she can't concentrate on the panic, either. She's so, so tired. She just wants to sleep. The hands leave her head and she feels herself collapse. She's lifted off her feet and cradled by different arms. Unfamiliar arms.

"Please, take care of her."

"I'll do my darnedest."

The sound of a door closing. Darkness. Harnesses being strapped over her body. A stained, scratched window. A loud humming noise.

The ground drops away.

Morning light peeks over the horizon beneath black clouds. The sky is red. Too red. A beam of light brighter than the sun pierces through the clouds, striking the center of the fjord. Then the ground becomes the sun.

The darkness takes her.

* * *

She's on the ground. Sharp chunks of rock dig into her from below, the pain jolting her to awakeness. Her hand stings.

There's a hum resonating through the still air. She opens her eyes to find a redheaded man staring at her with an uncertain expression, leveling a blade of green plasma between them. Pieces of rubble hover off the ground near his feet.

Pieces of rubble are hovering off the ground all around her.

Clarity rushes back like a torrent of freezing water, leaving Anna gasping for breath. The rocks drop out of the air in a rumbling hail.

She remembers now. She remembers everything. She sinks to her knees as her chest tightens, choking out a thick, heaving sob. Dimly, she hears the lightsaber extinguish.

"Anna? Anna, talk to me."

Footsteps rush toward her across the rubble, but she doesn't have the strength to look up.

She's imagined coming home a million different times. In her most self-indulgent fantasies, there's a family waiting for her at the door, welcoming her with open arms. In her darker dreams, there's someone with a sneer and a blaster pistol.

This is so much worse than anything she could have imagined.

Lunging forward, she grabs onto Cal like a drowning person to a lifeboat, burying her face in his neck as she lets out a hoarse cry. His skin smells of sweat and grease, but she only holds on tighter as uncontrollable sobs wrack her body. He freezes for an instant, then his arms are around her too, his calloused fingers hesitantly moving to stroke her hair.

"Anna, you're scaring me. What happened?"

It's hard to force words through her spasming throat, but she does.

"They're dead, Cal. They're all dead."


	12. Something is Familiar

**Something is Familiar**

His boots strike the glossy floor of the white-and-grey corridor, in perfect unison with the other soldier marching beside him. They are clad in identical black armour, with identical black staffs held beside them in their right hands. He doesn't know the other trooper's name—he never does these days. The Empire doesn't want their soldiers getting too attached, it seems. The Empire expects sacrifice without hesitation.

This is nothing new to him. He was born to die from the start.

Truth be told, he misses the old days on the Geonosian front. Back then, he was CC-4381-94. His squad mates had a name for him, once, a real one. As far as he knows, nobody's alive to remember it anymore. He doesn't miss them—soldiers die, that's how it goes. He doesn't even miss his name. He misses the thrill, though. Service as a Purge Trooper is practically a vacation compared to the Galactic Civil War. What he does these days feels more like slaughter than fighting. It's boring.

Today might be a bit more interesting, however.

The Inquisitor turns the corner in front of him, her torn capes fluttering as she pivots. Several long gouges and burn scoring mar her usually spotless mask. He idly wonders if the outcome of the mission could have been different if he'd been one of the troopers accompanying her. It's been much too long since any of his targets have put up a real fight. It would have been fun.

The corridor flares to a set of doors that slide open before the Inquisitor. The officers on the command deck immediately jerk to attention.

He smiles under his helmet. He's served under a handful of the Inquisitorius over the years, but none have had quite the same knack for making those in command shit their crisply ironed uniforms as the Twelfth Sister. Stepping to the side to flank the doorway, he stands his uncharged electrostaff firmly beside him, watching his partner do the same on the other side of the exit.

The balding man at the front of the deck regards the approaching Inquisitor with his hands clasped behind his back, wearing a carefully neutral expression that only seems to highlight his discomfort. The badge on his chest identifies the man's rank as Admiral. The Twelfth Sister stops two paces from him, regarding the old man silently.

"Inquisitor!" the Admiral greets, drawing himself up to his full unimpressive height. "My apologies, I wasn't expecting you back so soon. To what do I owe this visit?"

"Admiral Weselton." The Twelfth Sister's tone is melodic, condescending. "Your tip about the whereabouts of the Jedi Cal Kestis was very helpful."

"It was my pleasure, Inquisitor. And were you able to apprehend the traitor?"

"I was not," the Inquisitor states flatly. "The Jedi had help, once again. My troopers perished in the fight. They were distracted by an accomplice matching the description your men provided of that 'street rat' seen fighting alongside Cal Kestis on Sakiya."

"Ah." The Admiral raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps it was overzealous of you to bring only two troopers for support on the mission, then."

The room is silent for three seconds too long—just long enough for Weselton to start fidgeting nervously.

"I have a question for you, Admiral," the Twelfth Sister continues in the same emotionless tone. "Would you have any idea _how_ a ragtag group of fugitives with little resources managed to so effortlessly find and infiltrate a Legacy Databank?"

The Admiral bristles at the inquiry, his moustache twitching in annoyance.

"Officers, leave us," he orders to the room with a dismissive wave.

The other three men on deck file out rapidly with barely-hidden expressions of relief. As the door closes behind them, Admiral Weselton turns back to the Twelfth Sister, his beady eyes flashing with indignation.

"Of course _I_ don't know how they did it! Are you suggesting that I somehow-"

"Understood," the Twelfth Sister interrupts evenly. "I am not here to point fingers, Admiral, only to continue my investigation. In any case, I would like to request a copy of the data the infiltrators pulled from the databank."

The Admiral shakes his head stiffly. "I'm afraid that data is classified, Inquisitor."

The Twelfth Sister is silent for five seconds this time.

"I am an Inquisitor, Admiral," she finally says, carefully enunciating each word. "_Classified_ means nothing to me."

The Admiral's moustache curls in a snide smile.

"That is a matter for you to take up with Lord Vader. My orders are to withhold access to the Legacy Database from _all_ unauthorized personnel—and, last I checked, the Order of Inquisitors has not been granted clearance. I can do no more for you."

Even through his environment-sealed armour, he feels the temperature in the room plummet. Admiral Weselton's breath fogs in the air as he rubs his arms, the smile falling from his face to be replaced with an expression of rising fear.

"Very well." There is ice in the Inquisitor's voice. "I am, of course, beholden to Lord Vader's orders. But there _is_ one thing you can do for me, Admiral. You can stop being the middleman in this investigation."

"What? Middleman!" The Admiral's throat bobs nervously. "I assure you, the information I gained was entirely by my own means!"

"Please, Admiral. Your uncanny ability to know exactly the right information when it suits you for a promotion has not gone unnoticed." The Twelfth Sister angles her head and leans forward. "Who is the informant who provided you the location of Cal Kestis? Or shall I _take up with Lord Vader _that you are obstructing the progress of my investigation?"

The Admiral blanches.

"No! No, I…" he stutters with a swift lick of his lips. His eyes dart in a panic around the empty command deck before returning to meet the Inquisitor's. "Please, can you keep this confidential? The good of the Empire was tantamount to my motivations, I assure you!"

The Inquisitor remains silent, her posture utterly still. Admiral Weselton pleadingly holds her gaze. He only manages two seconds before deflating like a balloon.

"Westergaard," he says softly. "The information broker's name is Hans Westergaard. He fronts as an arms dealer on Cantonica."

Little by little, the air in the command deck returns to its normal temperature. The Twelfth Sister stares down at the cowering man for a moment longer before straightening her posture.

"Canto Bight. I don't believe that's a sanctioned expense under the terms of the Imperial Navy," she intones. "Thank you for the information, Admiral."

She turns on her heel and makes for the exit in sharp strides, ignoring the Admiral's blubbering attempts at a retort. The Purge Troopers fall into formation behind her with practiced precision.

"You two, back to the shuttle," the Twelfth Sister commands. "Tell the pilots to chart a course for Cantonica. More details to come shortly."

"_Yes, Twelfth Sister_."

* * *

A hollow shudder through the hull tells him the shuttle has dropped out of hyperspace. The mission briefing dossier floats in the periphery of his helmet's heads-up display, alongside the image of a younger human man with neatly coiffed hair and an easy smile. He skims the documents one final time, flicking between pages with twitches of his eye.

Apparently, this Hans Westergaard is a recluse with no known staff under his employ. That means droids. He closes the display with a tap of his wrist controller, allowing himself a small smile. It's been years since he's killed a battle droid. This could be an entertaining trip.

A faint whistling carries from outside the ship as the shudders intensify. They must be making their descent into the atmosphere. He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths and focusing his senses. Soon enough, he feels the force of deceleration as the shuttle makes its landing.

He unfastens the safety harnesses securing him to the bare-metal seat. The exit ramp cracks open, the ventilation hissing with decompressing air. After a moment's consideration, he clips two stun grenades to his belt and holsters a sidearm before retrieving his trusty electrostaff from the rack on the cabin wall.

"_You sure you don't want to pack a bit more heat for this one?"_ asks another trooper as he grabs a long rifle from the same armoury—one of the two marksmen who joined them on the shuttle shortly before their departure.

"_I prefer to get up close and personal,"_ he replies simply. The ends of the staff crackle with electricity as he flicks the switch, giving it an experimental spin over his head.

He turns toward the back of the empty compartment, waiting for the ramp to extend to the ground before stepping out into the hangar. The other troopers march with him in perfect unison, assuming a diamond formation behind him as they emerge from the shuttle.

The throng of street-goers give the squad a wide berth, parting like a startled school of fish as the Purge Troopers stride out of the Canto Bight spaceport. Most of those outside the ranks of the military know little to nothing about the elite soldiers of the Inquisitorius outside of rumours and hearsay, but the black armour and clearly visible weaponry are more than enough to command fear in any language.

He leads the squad down a tangle of side streets and back alleys, pausing periodically to check the map on his heads-up display. Instinctively, he scans the crowd in methodical sweeps, taking careful note of everything that may pose a threat. Once in a while, one of the bolder passers-by will stray inside the invisible perimeter, only to scramble back to the safety of the crowd when one of the soldiers activates his electrostaff or raises a blaster rifle.

As they near the destination, his grip tightens on the shaft of his weapon. Eventually, the narrow street opens to a wall of featureless durasteel. This must be the estate-turned-weapons-factory described in the Westergaard dossier. He turns to the others and gives a nod. Wordlessly, the troopers fan out around the perimeter, weapons held at the ready.

"_Where is the Inquisitor?"_ a soldier to his left asks under his breath.

"_En route,"_ he states.

As if on cue, the dull screech begins to fill the air, raising in volume until it becomes the familiar scream of a TIE's ion engines. A dark shape darts down from the cloudless sky: a bulbous glass cockpit framed by dagger-shaped solar arrays that gleam in the bright afternoon sun. The TIE Interceptor alights on the roof of the estate with a dull thud, the hatch on top popping open to reveal a familiar black mask and white braid.

The Twelfth Sister clambers out of the cockpit and drops four storeys to the ground with a casual step, her fall slowed by an invisible force that causes the air to rumble. She surveys the assembled troops with a glance before turning to face the metallic wall. Striding forward, she pounds twice with a gloved fist.

"Hans Westergaard." Her voice reverberates off the surrounding buildings. "The Inquisitorius believes you possess information on a dangerous enemy of the Empire. I seek a personal audience with you to discuss this information. Non-compliance will result in a charge of sedition. You have one minute to comply." She pauses. "In case you get any ideas, I have a squadron of TIEs closely patrolling the airspace above the estate."

Nothing happens for twelve seconds. Then there's a low creak. Two bulky droids half the height of the building itself unfold from the wall of the estate, lumbering forward to glare down at the Twelfth Sister with ocular sensors that spew blinding laser grids. The Purge Troopers immediately raise their weapons, but the Twelfth Sister raises a fist, signalling for them to hold their fire.

For another five seconds, the only movement is the Inquisitor's braid fluttering in the wind.

Abruptly, the droids turn to face inward, the angry red glow of their eyes flashing white-blue as they project the face of the man from the dossier in a three-storey facsimile between them.

"Ah, an Inquisitor," the man greets pleasantly. "This is an unexpected honour. Please, come in."

The droids fold seamlessly back into the wall as a rectangular opening splits open in the space between them.

"Secure the perimeter," the Twelfth Sister orders, pointing to the two marksmen. "The rest, with me."

She walks forward into the darkness of the new doorway, grasping her lightsaber in her left hand.

As they pass the threshold, the thermal view on his visor activates in the gloom. They proceed in silence down a long staircase opening up to a dimly lit lounge space. Hans Westergaard stands behind the bar, casually pouring himself a drink.

"Is it proper to offer a drink to you military types? I can never recall."

The Twelfth Sister halts in the middle of the lounge.

"What do you know about Cal Kestis?"

"Not a fan of pleasantries, then." The man raises his glass and downs his drink in one gulp, before leaning conspiratorially over the bar. "As it so happens, Mister Kestis and his crew passed through here not too long ago."

"Harbouring a Jedi fugitive is a capital offense, Mister Westergaard."

The Purge Troopers turn on their electrostaffs in unison. Hans raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, you misunderstand me," he says in earnest. "There was no _harbouring _done here, only the collection of information. You see, your Admiral Weselton had a contract with me to procure intel for him—as I'm sure you are now aware." He smiles wryly. "Cutting the middleman, are we?"

"Admiral Weselton's contract was an unsanctioned use of military funds, and is to be terminated immediately," the Twelfth Sister intones. "I am sure _you_ are aware of the consequences of withholding information from the Inquisitorius to any degree. I ask again, what information do you have on Cal Kestis?"

"Nothing more than what I told the Admiral, I assure you." Hans's face contorts in a knowing smile. "Just in case any of it was _lost in transit_, though, allow me to recapitulate."

The man presses two fingers to a narrow strip of metal above his ear. A hidden holoprojector hums to life in the ceiling, displaying a starmap of the Outer Rim in the center of the lounge. The sterile light reflects harshly off the Twelfth Sister's steel mask.

"I planted a tracking beacon on the _Stinger Mantis _and was able to trace the ship's trajectory for several lightspeed jumps."

A bright blue path emerges from the blip on the map representing Cantonica, working its way along several major hyperlanes before diverging off into an empty region of space. Abruptly, the trail stops.

"Unfortunately, the beacon stopped transmitting after approximately seven hours. At that point, I contacted the Admiral and provided him the information, which he presumably passed on to you at his earliest convenience."

"And how did you plant this tracking beacon on the traitor's ship?" The Inquisitor's voice is calm, almost impassive, but the fingers of her right glove slowly form a fist.

Hans chuckles lightly.

"I keep tabs on every ship that enters and leaves Canto Bight airspace. Clever bluff with the TIE squadron, by the way. Would have given me quite the fright had I had any intention of making a hasty escape—but that would certainly have given you the wrong idea."

The holomap fizzles out. The man spreads his arms.

"Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Inquisitor?"

"What was Cal Kestis trying to find in the Legacy Database?" The Twelfth Sister's voice is sharp through her vocal filter.

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," Hans answers smoothly. The slightest furrow forms in his brow.

Left hand still gripping her lightsaber, Twelfth Sister silently raises her other in front of her, fingers splayed toward the ceiling. Something floats through the air to rotate lazily in the space above her palm: a single strand of red hair, barely visible in the dim lighting. The Inquisitor scrutinizes the hair for six long seconds.

"The girl was here." She takes a step toward Hans with a tilt of her head. "You lie."

"You mean to accuse me of treason over a hair?" Hans scoffs. He moves a hand toward his head, as if to brush back his hair.

"_Don't even think about it." _ Electrostaffs are raised.

The corner of Hans's mouth twitches as lights flash briefly along the implant above his ear.

"Oops."

The cabinets behind the bar slide into the floor to reveal two dark, humanoid figures set into slots in the wall. Round ocular sensors shine white from cylindrical heads as the figures raise spindly, blaster-tipped arms.

Assassin droids.

He barely has time to dive to the floor as the first shots whizz over his head, ricocheting off the mirrored walls before exploding on the floor and ceiling, showering him in debris. A familiar screech tears through the air as the room is bathed suddenly in crimson. In his peripheral vision, he watches the Twelfth Sister swing her blade in a blur, turning away the droids' fire a hair's breadth before it strikes her body.

Looks like he gets to kill some droids after all.

The first assassin droid lunges down at him with an electrified pincer-hand. He parries the attack with his staff, spinning around and carrying the momentum into a vicious downward strike. The droid reels back from the blow, seemingly dazed as electric sparks run up and down its metal torso. It fires again, but the shot goes wide.

He doesn't give it a chance to recover. Sweeping the droid's thin legs out from beneath it with a kick, he lunges forward, driving it to the ground with the butt of his electrostaff. A grim smile crosses his lips as he jams the crackling weapon deep into the exposed circuitry of the droid's neck. It writhes on the floor, limbs twisting senselessly as its sensors go dark.

He turns to see his comrade driven back against the wall by the other assassin droid's lightning flurry of blows. Before he can move to assist, the Twelfth Sister leaps across the lounge, capes billowing as her blade scythes down in a blazing arc. The droid clatters to the floor in neat halves, its insides glowing molten orange from the lightsaber's heat.

She whirls around in the same motion, throwing out her free hand with her fingers clawed. A blast of wind rips through the lounge, shattering glasses and knocking bottles off the rack as thin spears of ice shoot from the floor, pinning Hans to the wall beside the now-open doorway at the end of the room. The man almost made his escape.

The Inquisitor strides forward until she's face to face with hans. Miraculously, none of the icicles drew blood. For the first time, a hint of panic bleeds through the man's calm facade as he stares down at the enormous crystal spears. But there's something else in that expression. Something almost like fascination.

"What did they want from the Legacy Databank?" the Twelfth Sister asks again, her words soft. The still-lit blade of the lightsaber hums in her hand.

Hans raises his gaze, taking a deep breath to regain his composure.

"They were looking to trace a symbol. A flower."

"Show me."

"How am I supposed to comply like this?" Hans counters, shifting his shoulders with a sneer.

"Use the holoprojector in the room," the Twelfth Sister orders coldly. "You've proven yourself capable enough with your remote gadgets."

Hans grits his teeth in displeasure. The implant flashes once, coinciding with the appearance of a flickering image at the center of the lounge. It's the silhouette of a three-petaled flower, seemingly drawn by hand.

When the Twelfth Sister turns toward the hologram, she goes completely still. Gradually, snow begins to fall in the underground lounge of the Westergaard estate. A full nine seconds pass before she speaks again.

"Secure him. Bring him back to the destroyer for questioning."

"_Yes, Twelfth Sister," _the Purge Troopers answer in unison.

The spears of ice disintegrate as the soldiers march forward and grab Hans roughly by each arm. At the center of the lounge, the Inquisitor continues to stare at the image of the flower, completely motionless. The lightsaber in her hand extinguishes with a faint hiss.


	13. The Oath

**The Oath**

She doesn't know how long she's been sitting here in the corner of her cot. She hasn't spoken to anyone since her return to the _Mantis_. She's been barely functional, really. Her brain definitely wasn't made to endure this much rejiggering in a single day.

Cal explained her situation to the others as best as he could. Greez didn't want to stay planetside any longer, saying things about supplies and communications like he expected Anna to protest. She just nodded along numbly, and the captain seemed grateful. She's grateful they're leaving. She can't stand the sight of the ruins any longer.

There's nothing left for her here.

They must have taken off some time ago now. She can feel the ship lurching and rattling as Greez navigates it through the deadly obstacle course leading back to civilization. The sharp pain from the gash in her hand has dulled away under the stim-soaked bandages wrapped over it, but she barely noticed the pain to begin with. Even the terror from the journey here is only a faint memory now, drowned under an ocean of new ones fighting for dominance in the confines of her skull.

She screws her eyes shut, willing the images to stop, willing the noise to cease. None of it matters anyway. The silence comes slowly, painfully. It's a dangerous silence, one that gives her room to think.

She's seen dark before, but not like this.

Thirteen years spent waiting, wondering, _yearning_ for her past. Now she finally knows who her parents are. She finally knows where she came from. She finally knows the horrible truth. She laughs as bitter tears stream down her cheeks. All the answers are here, right here in her head, yet all she wants is to forget them all over again.

She's the princess of a kingdom that's been erased from history. Her home planet is barren, barely hospitable. Everyone who ever loved her is dead. After all this time, she thought she'd be ready for the answers to her past to be anything, but she isn't ready for _this_. After all this time, she thought she'd be used to loneliness, but this is different. There is no room for hope in this new emptiness. There is only a hole, a pit of nothingness devouring her from within like a parasite. The gnawing is a physical vertigo. She wants to throw up. She wants to curl up into a ball and disappear.

She tries.

She must fall asleep at some point, because suddenly the sound of knuckles on the other side of the closed door is jerking her awake. She raises her head from between her knees. Everything aches, but she can't find the energy to move.

The knocks come twice more before she finds her voice.

"Come in," she rasps.

Immediately, the door slides open, revealing a clean-shaven Cal in a newly laundered set of travel clothes. Despite everything, she feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment when his gaze flits over her. She's barely done so much as take off her boots since they left Arendelle. Her tattered shawl pools around her, not much more than rags at this point, a stark contrast to the spotless cream-coloured mattress beneath her.

Cal ventures into the room with careful, cautious steps. He isn't wearing his lightsaber, Anna notices.

"Hey," he greets quietly, sitting down on the opposite corner of the cot.

"Hi." Anna's response is barely a whisper.

"How are you holding up?"

She wipes gum from the corner of her eye with a finger. "I've been better."

He hesitates before scooting closer on the mattress.

"You wanna talk about what happened?"

"What do you want to know?" She meets his gaze through a tangled curtain of hair still caked in rock dust.

"Well…" Cal chuckles softly. "Why don't we start with that floating rock thing you did? Not gonna lie, that threw me for a loop."

The gentle teasing in his tone lifts the heavy blanket of lethargy just a little. Anna straightens her legs, grimacing as her back pops in several places.

"I don't know how I did that." She frowns as she pulls some hair out of her face. "That was the Force, wasn't it?"

Cal nods slowly, his expression becoming sober once more.

"Probably. Something happened when you touched that… hand. It was like a pressure suddenly disappeared."

Anna's eyes widen. She looks down at her hands.

"You felt that, too? The pressure?"

"That's what I meant by 'bad feeling.'" Cal pauses. "Wait, are you telling me you felt that, and you _still _kept going? Some survival instincts you got."

Anna glances up again to find Cal smirking at her. The corner of her own mouth twitches up for a brief instant. Too brief. She sighs.

"I remember now, Cal." She takes a shuddering breath. "The Empire attacked Arendelle. My mother took me away from the castle when it looked like we were going to lose the war. She paid a—well, I thought he looked like a scary fish monster, so probably a Mon Calamari—to help me escape the planet." Tears well up, obscuring her vision. "My mother didn't come. She… removed my memories somehow, right before the pilot took me away."

"To protect you from being discovered by the Empire." Cal's brow furrows. "That's why you couldn't remember."

Anna nods stiffly, wiping away the tears with her sleeve.

"The last thing I saw was this thing coming down from the sky," she whispers. "This beam of light that hit the ground and just _melted _it."

Cal's mouth draws to a thin line.

"Orbital bombardment," he mutters darkly. "That's what made those craters. Not a meteor shower."

The words make the hair on the back of Anna's neck stand on end. She shivers. She's heard of the Empire's death fleets, though only as a passing rumour. Entire armadas of Star Destroyers outfitted with massive turbolasers, roaming the galaxy with the express purpose of razing entire planets to the ground.

"Operation Dark Sea," she utters hoarsely. Fresh tears drop from her eyelashes.

Cal closes the remaining distance between them and wraps her in a soft hug. She buries her face in his chest, squeezing her eyes tight against the image of tens, _hundreds _of those laser beams laying waste to her home, her people, her family.

"I'm so sorry, Anna."

She can hear his voice rumbling in his chest. She clutches to him as the sobs start again, her tears soaking into the coarse fabric of his vest.

"I'm… sorry… too," she mumbles between hiccups.

"For what?"

"Using you as… my tissue box."

Cal laughs. Fingers run gently through her hair.

"You know, of all the things I've had slobber on me over the years, I can definitely say I like you the most."

Anna chokes out a laugh.

"Gee, thanks."

She stays there in his arms for a long time, focusing on the gentle rise and fall of Cal's breathing. His fingers keep stroking through her hair, slowly working their way through the tangles and knots. Gradually, her sobs die down to sniffles.

"Thank you," she says again, more firmly this time. She pulls back, taking Cal by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "I mean it. Nobody's ever given half a scazz's ass about me since I lost my memories. You… you mean a lot to me."

Cal stares back with a tender light in his eyes. Anna drinks in the details of his face, tracing her gaze over the faint scar slashing across the bridge of his nose. There's a different kind of vertigo now, one that sends tingles up her back and makes it hard to think.

One that compels her to do something really, really stupid.

Cal's lips part to say something more, but she's already pulling him in by the shoulders. Her eyes close as she feels his lips meet hers, her hand moving up to cup his face as she leans in out of instinct. Her heart thunders in her chest. His lips are soft, and for a moment she can swear he's kissing her back.

Then Cal freezes under her touch, shrinking out of her embrace as if she'd hit him with a stun baton. Her eyes snap open to find an ocean of conflicting emotions in his. She jerks her arms back, pressing her hands into the mattress as dread pits in her stomach.

"I…" Cal clenches his jaw, his expression shifting between apology and veiled panic. "I can't do this."

"What do you mean you-"

"I just can't, Anna."

The words stab into her like knives. He must see the tears welling in her eyes because he lets out a sigh and turns his shoulders back to face her completely.

"A Jedi shall not know love," he states sternly. "I can't break that rule again."

"Again?" Anna freezes. "Is this… is this because of Merrin?" she asks hesitantly.

Cal holds her gaze for an agonizing few breaths.

"No," he finally says under his breath. "No, she wasn't the problem."

He rises from the cot in a single stiff motion and begins to leave. Anna watches helplessly as he presses the button to open the door.

"Call… call if you need anything."

The door slides shut over Cal's strained expression.

The moment Anna hears the mechanism whirr to a halt, she turns and buries her face in the pillow behind her. She wants to scream, but Cal might hear so she bites back the urge, settling instead for punching the pillow again and again until she's panting from the effort.

Why? _Punch._ Why? _Punch._ _Why _did she do that? She's barely gotten used to what it's like to have a _friend_ for crying out loud, where in her peanut brain did it make any sense to try to fly before she even knew how to walk?

And what did he mean, Merrin wasn't the problem?

She draws her legs up to her chest, curling inward and hugging her knees as she rocks herself back and forth, trying to calm the churning in her stomach. Her heart aches like a shard of white-hot metal is lodged inside her chest. Serves it right. It's done enough damage for one day.

With a growl of frustration, she pushes herself up and dangles her legs off the bed. All of a sudden, her grimy clothes feel disgusting on her skin. Blowing a tuft of hair out of her vision, she grabs a fistful of her cloak and tears the entire thing from her shoulders. She hears the pin snap and watches it shoot off into the corner of the room with a tiny morsel of satisfaction.

Time for a _long_ shower.

* * *

The next few days really, really suck.

Her newly recovered memories are proving to be a royal pain. Initially, she thought having them properly back within reach would put an end to the dreams. Dead wrong. Instead, the dreams get worse—more frequent, more vivid, and _much _more terrifying. Before, they were almost an out-of-body experience, detached and hazy. Now, she relives the last battles of a losing war every night, jerking awake to the sound of her own screaming with acrid smoke still burning in her nostrils.

In a cruel twist of fate, those same memories also frustrate her endlessly during her waking hours, but for the complete opposite reason. Naively, she always thought getting back her memories would be like gaining access to some secret archive of holovids, ready to be played back in picture-perfect detail at her command. The reality is a fragmented torrent of confusion.

So much is gone even after the wall that her mother put in her mind was torn down, decayed to nothing by years of stagnation. As for the memories that survived, well, turns out thirteen-year-old memories are far from photographic. Everything from before the war is faint and faded, barely anything but a jumbled collection of hazy inklings.

She can remember her father's voice, but not the stories he told with it. She can remember her mother's smile, but not her face. She can barely remember her sister at all. She can't even remember when the pilot abandoned her.

And then, on top of all this mess, there's the… situation with Cal.

At first, she avoids him entirely, retreating to the isolation of her own quarters at the first sign of his presence—which basically means she's in her room all the time, since the _Mantis_ really isn't that big of a ship. BD-1 comes to check on her every once in a while, and she doesn't have the heart to turn him away. For once, she's glad she can't understand the little droid's beeps and chirps—makes it easier to rant to him when she can pretend he can't understand her either.

Without BD-1 to distract her, the rest of the time she spends in her room is awful. The isolation leaves her with nothing but aching loneliness and sorrow for company.

She's going to lose her mind if she keeps this up.

So on the third day, instead of snatching her dinner tray and darting off into her room like a cave spider, she steels herself and stays at the table.

To her relief, Cal isn't there when she sits down. Greez and Cere don't say anything as Anna takes small bites out of her bowl of stew, but she catches them shooting her cautious glances when they think she isn't paying attention.

Eventually, Greez breaks the silence.

"What do you think of the stew, kid?"

Anna raises her gaze from the now half-empty bowl. She blinks. She must have been hungrier than she thought.

"It's good. It's great, Greez."

The stew is an odd mixture of savoury and sweet, but it's worlds better than the hard rations and gruel she's used to surviving on. Truth be told, she still hasn't really gotten used to having proper meals on a regular basis—a part of her still fears she might not see food again for a long time.

That could be her life again very soon. She swallows, pushing the thought aside.

The captain laughs, punching Cere in the shoulder.

"Told you it would stew. Grandma Dritus's recipes never fail."

Cere shrugs the Latero off with a wry shake of her head before turning her attention back to Anna. The older woman regards her with an expression made of stern lines, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table.

"Anna, I think it's time we debriefed about…" Anna shrinks into her seat. Is she going to ask about Cal? Did Cal tell Cere about what happened? "... what happened on Arendelle."

Anna lets out a slow breath, trying not to look too relieved. This whole situation is so completely backward—she'd rather discuss the genocide of her entire people than talk about her own stupid feelings. Real mature, Anna.

"Arendelle was attacked by the Empire, just like we thought… but there were no survivors," she begins slowly. "They burned the planet to the ground from orbit. That's what those craters were." She glances up and finds poorly concealed disappointment etched over Cere's features. She presses on in a smaller voice. "I had another vision in the ruins of the castle. My mother, she removed my memories somehow, to protect me from the Empire. She paid a Mon Calamari pilot to get me off the planet right before the bombardment began."

Cere nods gravely.

"My condolences." The woman's expression darkens further. Suddenly, she scowls fiercely, her hands clenching to fists on the table. "Another of the Empire's atrocities just… swept under the rug. When will this nightmare end?"

Greez takes another slow bite of his stew.

"This has been one heck of a week, huh?" he says carefully. "We should lie low for a bit. Go sightseeing or something at the _farthest_ outskirts of the galaxy, at least 'til the heat dies down."

Cere grits her teeth audibly.

"This was supposed to be our lead, damn it," she hisses. "A chance to find allies, to finally strike back at the Empire. Now we're back to… _running_. We can't keep this up. This is unsustainable."

"I'm sorry," Anna says quietly. "I'm sorry I dragged you guys into my mess. I… I had no right-"

"No!" Cere cuts her off sharply. She sighs as Anna stares back in wide-eyed silence, her expression softening slightly. "None of this is your fault, child."

Abruptly, Cere glances up, raising an eyebrow at something behind Anna.

"Cal. You're late to dinner."

Anna nearly chokes out loud. She didn't hear Cal coming in at all. As his footsteps draw closer behind her, she makes a point of keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the bowl in front of her.

"Sorry, _mother_, I got distracted tuning the…" The joke peters out as the footsteps stop. "Oh, hi Anna." He sounds surprised. Is she imagining it, or is there a hint of eagerness, too?

"Hi, Cal," Anna mumbles back.

She tries very hard to ignore her now-racing pulse and eat her stew like a normal, functional person as Cal shuffles into the seat beside her. The dining table is unreasonably small. She doesn't know if she wants to shuffle toward or away from him.

Greez pushes a still-steaming bowl in Cal's direction.

"You actually went for it?" Cal asks in a mock-incredulous tone. "You sure this is safe to eat?"

"Don't kick it till you try it, kid," Greez huffs, folding his upper arms over his chest.

"What's in the stew?" Anna asks tentatively.

The silence that follows has her wishing her Force-sensitivity had the power to remove her from the visible spectrum.

"Greez, uh, had this idea that he would put the rest of the jorgan fruit in the meat stew," Cal explains, meeting her eyes with a brief glance. "I said no, Greez, that's a dumb idea, that's like putting cake in noodle soup. Apparently he really wants to prove me wrong, though."

She can't help it—a laugh bursts from Anna's lips from the absurd contrast between Cal's awkward tone and the words coming out of his mouth. Cal's eyebrows raise briefly in surprise, but when Greez starts guffawing too, a familiar lopsided grin breaks hesitantly across his face.

She really likes that smile.

"If you're done complaining about Greez's cooking, I think it's past time we decided on our next course of action." Cere's tone is hard as stone. "The captain thinks it best if we make our way to the outskirts of the galaxy and lay low."

Greez takes a sudden interest in the contents of his empty bowl.

"While I do not agree with his suggestion, he makes a valid point. We've attracted a lot of Imperial attention. With another Inquisitor on our tail, we're going to have to be very careful in choosing our next move."

Cal pokes at his stew with a spoon.

"Are you saying we should stop chasing Imperial communications?" he asks in a low voice. Dark flecks of motor oil dot the pale skin of his face. The smile is gone, replaced by a sudden hardness that's almost frightening.

Cere holds up her hand.

"I'm saying we need to rethink our strategy." She takes a long breath. "I was wrong, Cal."

Cal's brow creases in surprise. Cere pushes on.

"I was wrong to let the destruction of the Holocron cloud my judgement. The Jedi Order is no more, but we still have a duty to the people of this galaxy. If the fate of the Arendellians teaches us anything, it's that the cruelty of the Empire knows no bounds. Merrin was right. We cannot afford to operate from the sidelines any longer. We must strike back."

"Wow. Alright." Excitement battles trepidation in Cal's eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

Cere pauses to choose her next words.

"We are few. That fact hasn't changed. From the experiences we've had in the months since Merrin disappeared, I think it's safe to say that doing damage control isn't a battle we can win. We need to think on a bigger scale. I say we start looking for allies—get in contact with rebel cells, spread the news that we are here and we are willing to _fight_."

"And then?" Cal leans forward intently, his stew all but forgotten on the table. "What's the endgame?"

Cere glances individually at every person at the table.

"We do what we should have done years ago. We put an end to the Inquisitorius Program."

"You mean that fortress on Nur?" Greez scratches a mutton chop. "How are we gonna do that? We barely made it out alive last time, and that was _with _the help of Merrin's witch-magic."

"We will find a way, Greez," Cere replies resolutely. There's a fierce gleam in her eyes. "We have to."

"I'm… I'm with Cere," Cal says slowly. "Nowhere in the galaxy is safe for Force-sensitives until the Inquisitors are dealt with. We need to stop this at the source."

Cere's hard gaze finally settles on Anna.

"Anna, I'm not going to sugarcoat this. We can no longer guarantee your safety on this vessel. Every moment you continue to stay with us puts you in greater danger. If you're planning on parting ways with us, now is the time."

Anna feels Cal's eyes like a spotlight on the back of her neck. She risks a glance toward him, finding a sudden veiled tension in those green irises. Does he want her to leave?

Does _she _want to leave? She's fought tooth and nail to stay aboard this ship, but now that she has the answers she's been looking for, does she really want to be a part of the crew for good?

She thinks back to that fateful day on Sriluur. On any other ship, she would have been thrown off long ago if not killed outright. She's never going to find another crew like this one… but she's certainly pushed her luck far enough. Maybe it's time to go back to the life she knows best.

But maybe luck had nothing to do with it.

If she hadn't been swindled by that pilot, if she's been stranded a different day, if she'd run in the direction of a different spaceport, if she hadn't chosen _this_ particular ship to stow away on… she would still be out there, blindly scraping by a living on the streets. Yet here she is, sharing a table with the last remnants of the Jedi Order, the memories she's been missing for thirteen years finally back in their rightful place. It's a crazy unbelievable turn of events, unless…

Lights flicker and stones levitate in her memory.

It was the Force. It had to be. The Force led her here for her to fulfill her destiny. She's spent her life as a nobody—but she was never a nobody.

She's the last Arendellian. She has a duty to her people.

"The last thing that my mother told me was that I am Arendelle's last hope," she says firmly, still staring down at the table. She raises her eyes to meet Cere's gaze, newfound purpose burning like a beacon in her chest. "I'm done running. This is my fight, too."

Cere nods. "Glad to hear it. We'll need all the help we can get."

Anna squares her shoulders, holding Cere's gaze.

"I want to be trained to use the Force. If we go up against that Inquisitor again, my blaster isn't gonna cut it."

The former Jedi's expression immediately darkens. She stares back in silence for a long moment before answering.

"Anna… you don't understand what you're asking. The Force is volatile. Dangerous. The pull of the Dark Side is very strong. Without intense discipline and conditioning, you could become an enemy even greater than that Inquisitor."

Anna raises her eyebrows, ready to launch into a rebuttal. The idea of her turning evil because of some mysterious energy field is absurd… right? Suddenly, she sees Cal standing opposite her in the courtyard ruins, lit lightsaber held ready to defend himself.

Ready to defend himself from _her_. She swallows.

"I won't let myself turn to the Dark Side. I promise."

Cere shakes her head.

"You don't even know what that means yet. You're much too old to begin training in the Jedi tradition." She holds up a hand as Anna opens her mouth. "Even _if_ we are willing to overlook that, the fact is I'm not fit to train an apprentice. I've cut myself off from the Force. I can't be your teacher."

"I can."

Anna stops breathing at the sound of Cal's voice. She whips her head his direction to find his expression still locked in that unreadable mask.

"You want to train me?" she blurts in shock. Even after… no, she can't be thinking about that right now.

Cal keeps his attention fixed on Cere.

"Cere, you made me a Jedi Knight. By the Code, I can take a Padawan learner."

"Cal, are you sure about this?" Cere's tone is reprimanding. "A Padawan is not a commitment to be taken lightly. You will be responsible for her for many years to come."

"I'm sure," Cal says with a solemn nod. He glances at Anna, and she sees a glint of the previous nervousness return. "But this isn't just my choice."

"He's right, Anna." Cere's eyes bore into hers. "If you agree to having Cal as your Master, you will be taking an oath older than the Republic itself. Are you sure this is what you want?"

This whole situation is insane, so insane Anna barely manages to stifle a laugh. Not even an hour ago, she was avoiding Cal Kestis like a scrap rat from a spotlight, and now she's about to pledge her life to him. But then again, what other choice does she have?

_Your powers are your birthright._

With her father's words echoing through her mind, she plants her feet under the table, takes a deep breath, and nods once.

"I'll do whatever it takes."

"Very well." Cere rises from her seat, gesturing for her and Cal to do the same. "Cal Kestis, by the right of the Council, I appoint Anna Arrel as your Padawan learner."

Anna glances over to Cal.

"Well," Cal says, raising an eyebrow, "looks like I'm stuck with you, then." Gradually, the lopsided smile returns.

"It's settled, then." Cere sits back down wearily.

"One other thing."

Cere glances up as Anna places her hands flat on the table.

"My name isn't Anna Arrel. It's Anna of Arendelle."

* * *

**My first ever first kiss scene! I was sweating bullets the entire time I was writing this tbh. Hopefully it came out okay.**


	14. The Padawan

**The Padawan**

She's dreaming. Sometimes she can tell—the recovered memories feel strange, uncanny, like walking into a familiar room and realizing the furniture's been rearranged. Not that it helps, knowing it's a dream. It doesn't dull the experience, doesn't let her escape. She still feels the fear, the panic, the pain.

This particular dream isn't starting out so bad, though.

In the dream, she's running. The hallway is dark, lit in strips by the pale light of the twin moons streaming through the tall windows. As she dashes onward, she catches glimpses of white and purple wisps of light chasing each other in eccentric patterns across the cloudless black canvas of the night. She laughs with glee.

The sky's awake.

Soft feet pad along behind her. When she reaches the doors at the end of the hall, she glances back to see a small girl following behind her. Nervous blue eyes gaze back at her from beneath pale-blonde bangs. She and the girl are wearing matching nightgowns—the girl's a light blue, hers a deeper green.

"Anna, we're supposed to be asleep! What if Mama and Papa find us down here?"

"Come on, Elsa!" Anna whines. "I'll be quieter this time, I promise."

The other girl tries to maintain a cross expression, but has to lift a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Fine, but we have to be quick. You have lessons tomorrow!"

Anna pouts at her sister's reminder, but quickly decides it doesn't matter. Leaping up, she grabs onto the door handle and pulls down with all her might. Still hanging from the handle, she giggles as she feels it swing open under her momentum.

The sky's awake. Tomorrow can wait.

The room on the other side is huge, with walls decorated with ornate floral patterns and a vaulted ceiling that stretches so high above them she can barely make out where it is in the darkness. The door closes behind her with a whispering creak as Elsa eases it shut.

Anna bounces on her feet, failing to stifle her laughter as it echoes through the vast ballroom.

"Do the magic, do the magic!" she whispers excitedly.

Elsa's hesitant expression finally cracks into a grin. She raises her arms to the ceiling, splaying her fingers. A gust of frigid wind stirs the air, tugging at the hem of Anna's nightgown.

The ground shudders. Anna wobbles on her feet, almost toppling.

"Whoa, Elsa!"

But her sister's smile is gone.

"That wasn't me."

Anna frowns, confused. There's a faint whistling sound coming from somewhere outside, growing louder by the second.

"Then what-"

The whistling stops. The windows shatter with a blast so deafening Anna can't even hear her own scream. Then someone's grabbing her by the armpits and pulling her toward the doors as shards of glass fall around her in a hail of knives.

"_... got you, I got you, Anna…" _The words are hard to understand through the ringing in her ears.

She clutches onto Elsa, tremors wracking her body. The ringing in her ears eases in time to hear the doors slam open behind them.

"Oh, thank goodness, there you are!"

"Mama?"

Anna peeks over Elsa's shoulder to find both her parents standing in the doorway.

"We have to go!" her father yells, rushing forward and crouching down beside them. He has his sword strapped across his back. Papa never carries his sword.

"What's going on, Papa?" Elsa asks in a tiny voice.

Her father's expression turns dark.

"We're under attack."

"Come on, it isn't safe!" her mother urges.

As Anna pushes herself to her feet, another tremor runs through the floor with the strength of an earthquake and the ballroom disintegrates.

* * *

She jerks awake in a sheen of cold sweat. This time, she manages to stop herself before she smacks her head into the ceiling. Seventh time's the charm, apparently. Her sheets lie in a bunched mess at the end of the mattress. Through bleary eyes, she swings her legs off the edge of the cot, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

Elsa. How did she ever forget Elsa? They were so close…

Tears blur Anna's vision. She wishes she could tuck the dream away, keep it safe forever somewhere where the Empire didn't invade and the war never happened. Picking up Sir Jorgenbjorgen from the nightstand, she holds the tiny doll against her cheek, swallowing the lump that rises in her throat at the thought of her sister bleeding out, suffocating under a pile of rubble.

They must have escaped that ballroom, both of them. They had to have.

As if her sister surviving to be vaporized by the orbital bombardment instead is any consolation. Why didn't her mother save Elsa instead? Why was Anna the one to live?

The soft knock on the door startles her out of her thoughts. She wipes the tears from her eyes roughly.

"Come in," she rasps, voice still thick with sleep.

The door slides open to reveal Cal standing on the other side, dressed in a simple tunic and vest. BD-1 isn't with him. Anna runs a hand through her hair, resisting the urge to fidget. She hasn't talked to him since dinner yesterday.

"Morning," Cal greets, pausing in the open doorway and raising his eyebrows.

"Where are we?" Anna asks tentatively.

"We landed on Dathomir about an hour ago. Greez figured it's the best place for us to reset, plan our next move." Cal laughs. "It's kind of crazy how you manage to sleep through these things."

Anna glances around the four walls. So that's why it's so quiet. The engines are off.

"There aren't any Imperials on Dathomir? Why?"

Cal shrugs.

"There's nothing for them here. Nothing in terms of planetary resources, and the Nightsisters were almost completely wiped out during the Clone Wars."

Anna nods slowly. "So we're safe, then."

"Well, safe from the Empire, at least." Cal scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Dathomir is a lot of things. _Safe_ isn't exactly one of them."

He's still standing in the doorway. Anna raises an eyebrow.

"I did invite you in, you know."

Cal chuckles. He takes a few steps closer, hesitating only briefly before sitting down on the edge of the cot beside her.

"So what'd you wake me up for?" Anna asks in mock accusation.

"You were already awake," Cal states matter-of-factly. He looks down into his lap, and his expression sobers. "Actually, I came to talk to you about your training."

Anna folds and unfolds her hands. She's been putting off thinking about this. Back at the dinner table, she was so certain of her decision, but now it kind of feels like she's signed up for some mystery program without reading the waiver. Funny how sleep can change your perspective.

"So… I'm your Padawan now, huh?" she says slowly. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means it's my job to train you in the ways of the Jedi."

"Wait, I thought you were going to teach me to use the Force." Anna's eyes widen a little. "I wasn't signing up to become a Jedi."

Cal shakes his head.

"Like Cere said, the Force is dangerous. It's easy to fall to the Dark Side if you're not careful. The Jedi path is the only way I know to keep you from slipping." A teasing glint returns to his eyes. "If it makes you feel better, I wouldn't worry too much about the label. It's not like the Empire can kill you any dead-er because of it."

But Anna's frown only deepens.

"You guys keep talking about this Dark Side of the Force. What is that? What happens if I 'fall'?" She makes air-quotes.

Cal is quiet for a moment.

"The Dark Side is what we call drawing power from the Force by tapping into your passion and hate. It becomes addictive, corrupting. I remember Master Yoda said anyone who starts down that path is destined to become an agent of evil."

Anna's eyebrows come together as Cal's words fully sink in. "Are you saying using the Force can… change who I am?"

"The Dark Side promises power without discipline. That's the kind of power that makes you lose yourself. The kind of power that consumes you." Cal's tone is grave, his eyes hardening as he raises them to meet hers. "There's a reason there's so many… restrictions in the Jedi Code. No fear. No anger. No attachment. Anything that can distract you from the path is a slippery slope to the Dark Side." Cal sighs. "I know it all sounds hoagey when I say it now, but the Jedi path is the only one I know. If I'm going to teach you to use the Force, you have to trust me. Are you sure you still want to do this?"

The somber, matter-of-fact tone of Cal's voice doesn't sit right with Anna. Hot frustration surges in her chest, threatening to force its way out through her mouth. She wants so badly to point out Cal's hypocrisy, to demand what right he has to ask these things of her when he was so clearly willing to break his own Code with Merrin.

What is she to him, at this point? Does he even care?

"Anna?" There's a hint of concern now, but she refuses to meet his gaze.

Is she sure about this? Of course she isn't sure. She isn't even sure who she is right now. Thought of some invisible power twisting and corrupting her mind is absolutely terrifying. And she _definitely _isn't sure that she wants to commit herself to this "Jedi path" and all its rules.

But is there any other way? It's not like she can go back and ask Papa to teach her to use her powers. Arendelle is gone. Cal is all she has now. She sets her jaw and folds her arms, trying to ignore the way her heart aches at the thought.

This is bigger than her. This is bigger than both of them.

"When do I start?" Her voice is almost a whisper.

Cal holds her gaze for a moment before nodding. He rises to his feet.

"Meet me outside in fifteen minutes, Padawan."

The title settles in Anna's chest with the gravity of a star as Cal makes for the exit.

"Am I supposed to call you _Master Kestis_ now?" she calls halfheartedly.

"That is the tradition," Cal answers over his shoulder. The door slides shut behind him.

She looks back down at her hands. She's still holding Sir Jorgenbjorgen, the doll's mismatched button eyes gazing blindly up at her above a tattered smile. Giving it a soft kiss, she places it back on the nightstand and begins pulling her hair into a ponytail.

* * *

Cal makes her run for ten kilometers.

"You were the one who said this place isn't safe. Aren't there like, poisonous plants and carnivorous beasts everywhere?" she asked initially, to which Cal simply replied, "Stay on the trail and don't pick a fight with anything that looks like it could hit back."

Great.

To be fair, she doesn't know what else she could have expected from the first day of training. Secretly, she's glad for the chance to clear her head. Plus, he let her take BD-1.

It's still dark when she leaves the _Mantis_. The red Dathomirian sun crests low over the horizon, providing only a small semblance of illumination over the tangles of razor-wire vines and strange fungal bulbs spilling from the edges of the cracked stone path. Every so often she catches the glint of yellow eyes deep within the brambles, leering out at her as she passes by. That always motivates her to run just a little faster.

"How much longer BD?" she gasps after the ship is long out of sight.

She narrowly avoids twisting her ankle as she leaps over a crevasse. The droid chirps something over her shoulder, flashing a map of her route into the air in front of her nose. She really needs to figure out droid-speak at some point.

"Five more kilometers!" she groans as her eyes gloss over the hologram. "How is this… only halfway?"

BD-1 trills encouragingly, shifting slightly on her back. The feeling of the droid's feet pressing softly into her shoulder is comforting. All those years curled up in dark cargo holds would have been a lot more bearable with this little guy around.

"Where do I go now, BD? Do I turn back?"

BD-1 chirps a negative-sounding response. The yellow path on the map grows to extend in a loop leading back to the _Mantis_. Anna takes her hands off her knees, wiping sweat from her brow.

"Alrighty, you know this place better than I do."

Stone turns to dusty red soil beneath her feet as she directs her aching legs down a narrower path. The early morning air is frigid as it meets the skin of her bare arms. She's wearing one of the sleeveless tunics she found in the dresser. Merrin's. She clenches her teeth.

The kiss was four days ago. Cal hasn't said a word about it since, hasn't even acknowledged it. On the surface, it's like nothing ever happened—but she sees the way he hesitates when he catches her eye, the nervous tics that sometimes emerge when he gets too close to her. She knows it's on his mind, too. The silence is infuriating.

Her toes slam into a stone jutting from the path and she stumbles, barely righting herself before she topples into the nearest tangle of thorns. Something rustles off in the foliage and her heart skips a beat. She tries to get a better look, but there's nothing but shadows.

She takes a deep breath. Focus, Anna.

Her legs feel like lead pipes by the time the ship comes back into view, but she manages to make it back up the hill without tripping again. Cresting the small incline up to the plateau where the _Mantis_ is landed, she finds Cal standing with his hands behind his back, exactly where she left him.

"Okay, what's next?" she pants, leaning forward with her hands on her thighs to catch her breath. "Pull-ups? Jumping jacks?" BD-1 hops off her shoulder, patting her leg with an encouraging chirp.

Cal shakes his head, maintaining his impassive expression.

"Meditation, actually. The run was to clear your head."

He walks a few steps out from the ship before kneeling down with both knees on the sandstone. Closing his eyes, he gestures to the spot on the ground in front of him. Anna looks around awkwardly.

"Um, am I supposed to be facing you, or facing away, or…?"

Cal's eyes remain closed, but his face cracks in a slight smile. "Facing me is fine."

Anna kneels down. The edges of the sandstone dig into her knees through the thin fabric of her pants. She struggles to match Cal's straight-backed posture as she continues to gasp for air. Now that she's stopped, sweat is soaking through her tunic despite the chill of the early morning.

"Can I have a quick drink of water, or something?"

"It is time for instruction. Please address me properly."

"Wait, you were serious about the Master Kestis thing?" Anna asks incredulously. It's hard not to burst out laughing at Cal's sudden formality.

Cal sighs, opening his eyes. "Anna, help me out here." Anna notices a flicker of nervousness in his expression.

"You haven't done this before, have you?" she asks quietly.

Cal sighs, his eyes downcast.

"I was still a Padawan myself when the Purge happened. Cere knighted me on the _Mantis_." His gaze sharpens with resolve. "But Cere can't teach you, not anymore. It's up to me. So please, it's Master Kestis while I'm teaching."

His mouth draws to a stiff line as the smile falls from his eyes. In an instant, the nervous boy is gone, replaced by the hardened warrior she met on Sakiya. She finds herself nodding.

"Yes, Master Kestis."

Cal inclines his head. "Good. Now, close your eyes…"

* * *

Anna is disastrously bad at meditating.

She gets up every day at the crack of dawn to repeat the ritual of jogging and attempted meditation. Frankly, she's not yet used to waking up on a consistent schedule, but BD-1 is too cute an alarm clock for her to get mad at.

It's not that Cal's instructions are particularly complicated. Kneel down, close her eyes, and pay attention to her senses. Should be a cinch—if only her senses weren't so irritating. She's used to spending entire days motionless from her time as a stowaway, but then there was always noise, vibration, the constant danger of being sucked out a malfunctioning airlock to keep her on her toes. Here, everything is eerily silent, letting every ache, tingle, and itch creep out to torment her in the darkness behind her eyelids. It would almost be funny if it wasn't so frustrating.

On the third day, Cal places a flat stone on the ground in front of her.

"Maybe this will help you focus."

Anna lifts an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Close your eyes, try to see the stone in your mind." Cal's mouth twitches with a smile. "Then try to lift it."

She tries for hours that day. She can't get it to budge. The next day is no better, nor the next.

"If it makes you feel any better, most of the younglings back at the temple hated meditation class, too," Cal reassures her on the fifth day.

"I am not a _youngling_."

"Never said you were!" His mischievous grin says otherwise.

Maybe this Jedi path isn't as infallible as Cal thinks. These lessons themselves are probably a path to the Dark Side just from how ridiculously infuriating they are.

Thankfully, it's not all meditation. Unfortunately, it's not all meditation, not by a long shot.

Cal drives her to train ceaselessly. When she's not running, she's doing push-ups, or hand-stands, or squatting spent ion cells in the engine room.

"Cal… I thought… I was… being trained… to use the Force?"

The crate-sized cell crashes to the floor as Anna collapses onto the wall, panting heavily. Cal crosses his arms.

"The Force won't do you any good in a fight if your body can't keep up. And that's _Master Kestis_ to you."

She catches the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and rolls her eyes, hiding a smile of her own.

Honestly, she'd probably be complaining a lot more if Cal wasn't doing the exercises with her. As it stands, well… she knew he was fit before—she's seen the man scale buildings with nothing but his bare hands—but watching him do chin-ups in a thin, sweat-soaked shirt is an entirely different experience. It's really hard to not stare. Or at least not get caught staring.

Has she always felt this way toward him? It's almost as if the kiss flipped some switch in her brain.

Cal still hasn't said anything about the kiss, and at this point a big part of her hopes it'll stay that way forever. Acknowledging it would only complicate things. The rest of her doesn't care. The rest of her wants to kiss him again until he starts kissing her back.

Life is hard.

On the seventh morning, she hears the sound of the ship doors sliding open behind her as she kneels with her eyes closed on the plateau. Turning around, she sees Cal emerge from the _Mantis _carrying a long staff made of black steel. The sun is high enough now to bathe the _Mantis's_ silvery hull in dazzling crimson. Turning her attention from the stone in front of her, she pushes herself to her feet.

"Master Kestis, don't tell me you're gonna make me balance on that thing," she quips jokingly.

Cal throws the staff at her in reply. Anna snatches it out of the air, scrutinizing the device. Despite its bulky-looking ends, it's surprisingly light.

"What is it?"

"An electrostaff. Picked it off a Purge Trooper a while back. We've got a few more in the storage unit." Cal gestures to the center of the staff. There's a switch there, almost invisible against the dark metal. "Go on, give it a try."

Anna slides the switch into the on position, and the shaft begins to vibrate. Abruptly, arcs of electricity spit from the bulbs at the ends of the staff. She drops it with a yelp.

"The only parts that hurt are the ends, I promise," Cal says with a laugh.

He raises his hand and the staff floats back into the air in front of Anna. She picks it back up hesitantly, half-expecting the electricity to leap onto her and cook her into a well-done Arendellian steak. When she remains decidedly not electrocuted, she breathes a sigh of relief and gives the staff a few practice swings.

"Are you gonna teach me to use this?" Anna asks. Excitement tickles her chest.

Cal nods. "Can't rely on your blaster all the time, especially not against another Force user."

Anna absently rubs the raised patch of skin where her own blaster bolt grazed her shoulder after the Inquisitor sent it back at her. She'll need new tricks if she goes up against the likes of her again, that's for sure.

"Training with a staff is useful for learning all kinds of melee combat, especially swords," Cal continues. "And since you've clearly been itching for action, there's another useful thing with that particular staff—it blocks lightsabers."

Before Anna has a chance to fully process the words, Cal draws his weapon from his hip and ignites the blade in the same motion. Anna staggers backward in surprise.

"Wait, what are you-"

"Trial by fire, Padawan," Cal states. He advances.

Anna barely has time to raise the staff as the plasma blade buzzes down at her, striking the shaft just above her hand with a burst of sparks and lightning. She tries to back away, but Cal presses forward just as fast. He jabs toward her stomach and she leaps to the side, breath coming fast and shallow as she feels the heat of the blade. The sight of that same green lightsaber piercing clean through the back of the Purge Trooper on the space station flashes in her memory.

She's gotten into her fair share of back-alley scraps, but she's always been better at running away than standing her ground. Now, there's nowhere to run. She bats aside another swing, desperately searching Cal's rigid expression for some hint that this is just another joke. She finds none. She blocks another thrust, another swing. The staff feels huge and unwieldy in her hands. The muscles of her shoulders are already screaming in fatigue.

She's losing.

An image rises through the panic. A dark shadow bears down on her father as she watches from over her mother's shoulder. Suddenly, Cal's blade isn't green, but red.

A surge of strength courses through her body. She narrows her eyes, gripping the electrostaff until her knuckles turn white. As Cal pivots for another swing, Anna reverses her footsteps and charges into him, leveling the staff like a spear. Cal's eyes widen slightly in surprise and she feels a victorious thrill.

The feeling is short-lived.

Cal takes a single step backward, dodging Anna's stab with almost casual ease. A boot meets the small of her back, sending her sprawling forward onto the floor. The staff clatters out of her hands, sputtering as it scores electrical burns into the stone where it lands. She rolls onto her back in time to see the lightsaber swinging down at her with deadly speed. She screws her eyes shut.

The blazing green blade meets the exposed strip of skin between her tunic and her waist, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as she expects getting cut in half is supposed to feel. She opens one eye to find the end of the lightsaber pressing a dimple into her stomach. It feels… uncomfortably hot.

Is the blade dimmer than usual?

"What the…" she sputters.

"You lose," Cal announces with a wry twist of his mouth.

The lightsaber extinguishes with a hiss. Anna continues to stare incredulously up at him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that." Cal twists the lightsaber apart, holding out one of the halves. "It's got a practice emitter on. Cere would kill me if I cut my Padawan in half during the first combat lesson."

Anna scowls, pushing herself quickly to her feet. Come to think of it, his lightsaber did look different from usual. She should have known.

"You were testing me," she huffs, still shaking from the adrenaline rush.

"Guilty as charged."

"Well? How did I do?" She brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face.

Cal clips the lightsaber back onto his belt before putting his hands on his waist.

"Let's start with the basics, shall we?"

* * *

The dreams come less frequently now, but tonight, she dreams again.

Snow is thick in the air. The wind is cold, cutting through her winter jacket in icy needles. Above her, three towers of glimmering blue and silver reach toward the sky, the smaller outer structures giving way to a single central spire that disappears as it pierces the low clouds.

Unfortunately, the beauty of the scene is largely lost on her when an enormous beast of ice and rage explodes from a snowbank to her right.

She shrinks back instinctively, falling flat on her back and letting out a squeak of fear. The beast lumbers forward, glowering down at her with empty, soulless pits where its eyes should be. Its gaping maw opens to let out a deafening roar that shakes her bones.

Footsteps crunch over the snow. A broad-shouldered man dashes forward between her and the creature, his hands raised placatingly.

"Hey, hey there, Marshmallow! Calm down, it's just me."

The beast turns its attention to the dark-skinned man, and for an instant Anna's convinced it's going to pick him up and break him in half. Instead, it lets out a huff of wintry air has the man shielding his face.

_Enter._

The creature plods back to stand imposingly beside the gates to the Temple of Ice.

She pushes herself shakily to her feet, eyes still riveted to the terrifying beast.

"Mattias, did… did it just talk?" she whispers.

The man named Mattias turns back with a smile, extending a hand down to her. His hair and eyebrows are glazed with a coat of glimmering frost.

"You heard it, too? Good, that's very good."

Taking her hand, Mattias guides her toward the gates, gently brushing snow off her shoulders with his other hand.

"Mattias, what is that thing?" she whispers, stealing nervous glances at the snow-beast as they draw closer to the arched doors of frosted ice. The monster is still as a statue, completely ignoring their presence—for now.

"Marshmallow is an Elemental Guardian. He's a kind of manifestation of the water element. The guardians don't talk like we do, but they can communicate through Ahtohallan itself." Mattias pats her on the shoulder. "Not everyone can hear them without training, but those who can are said to have extraordinary potential. That means you, fireball."

He winks and she giggles. Suddenly, "Marshmallow" seems a lot less scary.

The temple gates are right in front of them now, fractal edges gleaming beneath the smooth crystal surface. Mattias places a large palm in the center of the radiating patterns and the doors swing open with a resonating boom, revealing the vast chamber of black ice beyond. Light from the sky above filters down through the translucent ceiling, bathing the interior in a cool blue.

As she walks through the doorway, everything becomes eerily silent. She whirls back toward the still-open doors, watching the blizzard continue to swirl beyond the threshold without so much as a whisper of wind slipping in.

"This way," Mattias calls from a few steps ahead. His voice booms in the empty chamber. "Not much further now."

She rushes to catch up—only to slip and sprawl forward onto the slick floor at Mattias's feet. He stoops down to help her up with a chuckle. Pouting, Anna rubs her bruised knee.

"Why did Papa want me to come up here, anyway?"

Mattias gestures to the icy pillars surrounding them.

"These temples are places of power. They were built by the first Arendellians at natural sites where the connection with the elements is strongest." He crouches down, his large hands dwarfing hers as he takes them gently. "This is where your sister found her element, when she was not much younger than you are now."

That part makes perfect sense to Anna. Elsa always seemed to remember lessons better than her, figure things out faster than her—of course her sister would find her powers sooner. But now, finally, it's Anna's turn.

"How do I do it? Is there a puzzle? I love puzzles!"

The corners of Mattias's eyes crinkle in a smile.

"It's kind of a puzzle, but not the kind you can solve with your hands."

He rises to his feet again, guiding her by the hand across the rest of the chamber. The quiet of the temple presses on her ears like cotton balls.

"Why is it so quiet?" she whispers. "Feels like a library."

"So it's easier to listen," Mattias says simply.

They reach the end of the chamber. A staircase made of black ice slabs rises up the wall, leading toward another set of doors much smaller than those at the entrance. The steps are taller than is comfortable for her short legs, and she has to clamber up with the help of her hands. The ice chills her fingers even through her gloves.

"Here we are," Mattias announces, stopping at the top of the stairs.

Anna gazes up at the closed doors. A four-pointed star gleams from the center, made up of diamond-shaped symbols carved beneath the surface of the ice. She's seen those symbols before, etched into the blade of Papa's sword.

Mattias reaches down and pats her on the shoulder. "Go on, open it."

Anna steps forward, placing one hand on either door. She pushes with all her might, grunting with exertion, but they're as unforgiving as solid stone. She looks back up at Mattias with a frown.

"They're locked!"

"A puzzle for you, then." Mattias winks.

Her frown deepens in confusion. Before she can ask anything else, a sound cuts through the still air—the same clear hum she heard from outside. Suddenly, there's a pressure in her mind. A presence.

She closes her eyes. She can still see the door outlined in quicksilver in the darkness behind her eyelids. There's something else too. A knot. A lock. In her mind, she tugs on the string until it unravels. Then she pushes on the doors again.

A low boom resonates through the chamber. She opens her eyes to find the real doors splitting apart on silent hinges before her raised hand.

* * *

The next morning, the rock moves.


	15. Show Yourself

**Show Yourself**

The mask's seals crack open with a soft hiss, and cool air hits the skin of her cheeks. She lays the curved sheet of metal down on the brushed steel countertop, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat coating her face with her sleeve. The Inquisitor uniform is many things; absorbent is not one of them.

Then comes the lightsabers, one, two, three of them arranged in parallel beside the mask. Decorations. Tools for intimidation more than actual souvenirs. She holds on to the last hilt for a moment, scrutinizing its features before setting it down with a scowl. Pests do not deserve sentiment, but fear is too powerful an ally to pass up.

Her own weapon comes last, placed on the opposite side of her mask with the arc of the knuckle-guard facing away from her. She takes off her gloves, folding them neatly and laying them at the farthest end of the counter. Her pale fingers are a stark contrast against the black artificial leather.

Raising her eyes, she meets her own gaze in the thin strip of mirror along the wall. Cold blue eyes stare back at her from a face marred by faint scars, each cast into sharp relief by the sterile lights running the ceiling. She exhales quietly, brushing back the stray lock of hair hanging over her forehead.

It's been thirteen years. Thirteen years since the nine-hour war that wiped out her home. Thirteen years since that dark shadow, more machine than man, rescued her from the ruins of the royal castle. Thirteen years since the Jedi massacred her people.

Thirteen years since she last saw the Crocus of Arendelle.

Vader told her she was the only survivor. She didn't believe it at first. She refused to. Her kingdom, gone. Her parents, dead. Her sister, sweet, innocent Anna, never to see the light of day again. How could she accept that? But when Vader showed her firsthand the destruction from the orbital bombardment, there was no room for denial. The planet's crust was all but liquified, weeping rivers of molten lava that shone so brightly they could be seen from across the system. Nobody could have escaped that without a spacecraft, and growing up she'd never heard of a single Arendellian travelling off-world. She believed it then.

A small breath escapes her lips. The eyes in the reflection harden.

It's been a long time since she's had tears left to cry. The past is in the past. She's burned away every last drop of grief and sorrow to fuel her single-minded resolve. She can't bring back the dead. The best she can do is avenge them.

She was a princess once, but now she is a weapon—the sword that will cull the Jedi scourge from the galaxy once and for all.

She turns away from the mirror, moving to sit on the edge of her thin bed. Leaning forward with her elbows on her thighs, she supports her forehead upon tented fingers and closes her eyes.

Cal Kestis is a frustratingly elusive prey. He and his crew appear like poltergeists, taking out small groups of troops only to vanish again for weeks to months. It's been like this for years. Until now. Out of the blue, the Jedi launches an attack on a Legacy Databank—a facility so classified she herself didn't even know it existed until Admiral Weselton gave her the briefing. It just doesn't make sense. Why the sudden boldness?

And why is Cal Kestis looking for information on Arendelle?

A flash of hot rage flares at the thought. Her people are already destroyed. Is that Jedi looking to spit on their graves?

Frost crawls along her palms, crackling in the still air of the officer's quarters. Hissing through clenched teeth, she throws out her hands, sending a blast of frigid air that coalesces into waves of razor-sharp spines that leap up from the floor. The lights dim and flicker. She sits still for a moment, breathing heavily.

There was a time when her father would have told her to focus, to concentrate, to control her emotions. But control is limitation, and limitation is weakness. Her hatred is a weapon. That was Vader's first lesson.

The hum of the holoprojector in the middle of the room brings her attention back to the present. The image of an officer she doesn't recognize sputters to life in the air above her steaming icicles.

"_Hans Westergaard has been transferred to the interrogation chamber as per your request, ma'am."_

She stands and smooths out her uniform before she answers, even though the officer has no way of seeing her.

"Understood."

The officer bows as the transmission fades out.

The wall of icicles now stands between her and her equipment, so she wills it to shatter with a clench of her fist. Shards of crystal ice ricochet off the walls, tinkling like chimes. Her boots crunch over frozen granules as she walks back to the counter. She runs her fingers over the gouges in the metal surface of the mask before slipping on the gloves. Clipping her lightsaber onto her belt, she picks up the mask and presses it back over her face, feeling the latches click into place as the red-tinged interface spreads over her vision.

She hates the mask. It's heavy and stifling, and her senses feel dulled within its opaque confines. Nevertheless, it's a necessary evil. Behind the mask, she's faceless, merciless, an emotionless force of nature. The mask makes her menacing, terrifying, and fear is a powerful ally.

The door to the hallway slides open at a wave of her hand. Two Purge Troopers stand flanking the doorway, immediately moving to follow as she strides out into the corridor.

"Stand down," she commands, gesturing over her shoulder. "I'll handle this alone."

"_Understood, Twelfth Sister."_

The troopers fall back to their positions as she continues down the hall. The corridors are quiet—the star destroyer is en route to a refuelling depot. The couple of officers she does pass on her way to the central elevator shoot her nervous glances before darting away down the nearest intersection as quickly as then can without breaking decorum. Technically, none of the officers on this vessel answer to her—only the Purge Troopers do—but they still treat her with the same barely contained nervousness as if they were in the presence of Lord Vader himself. Another benefit of the mask, no doubt. She prefers it this way. Helps to get things done in a timely manner.

Stepping into the elevator, she requests the lowest level on the keypad. The doors slide shut as the grated floor descends. When the doors open again, the previous slate grey of the corridor walls is replaced by the polished black of the detention level. Another officer in a freshly pressed uniform awaits her just outside the elevator.

"Inquisitor, I'm Lieutenant Adams," he greets with a stiff salute, his throat bobbing against a tight collar. With his eager eyes and clean-shaven face, he looks almost younger than she is. That's rare. "The prisoner is this way."

She answers with a single nod.

The Lieutenant turns smartly, his footsteps striking crisply off the glossy floor as he leads her down the hallway past smaller branching corridors with rows of holding cells. They make for a large hexagonal door at the end of the corridor flanked by two stormtroopers.

"Careful with this one," he stays conversationally. "We've stripped him of his weapons, of course, but the man is wired up with more cybernetics than most _droids_."

"Does he have any explosive devices embedded within his body?" she asks. From his performance at his estate, Hans Westergaard is certainly full of surprises—literally and figuratively.

"No, no! Not that we've been able to detect. The augmentation seems mostly just to allow him to remotely interface with droids and electronic devices and the like." Adams pauses. "No way to be certain without a biopsy, though."

"I see."

"The interrogation room is insulated from electronic signals, but once you're inside there's no telling what he's capable of."

"Thank you for the information, Lieutenant," she says pleasantly, letting a hint of firmness into her tone. The boy doesn't need to tell her to be cautious.

They come to a halt before the door. Adams fishes a code cylinder from his breast pocket, fiddling with it in his hands. His gaze darts back toward her.

"Inquisitor, if you don't mind me asking… is it true that you've killed Jedi? Not just rebels and sympathizers, but actual, real Jedi?"

"Four to date." She's getting the sense that this boy is quite new on the job.

"That's _impressive_. Lord Vader must be proud! You are doing the Empire a great service."

She silently studies Adams from behind the mask.

"Don't mistake me for a hero, Lieutenant," she finally says in a low voice. "I'm just performing my duty." She gestures toward the door. "My apologies, but you're not the one I'm here to talk to."

"Right, sorry!"

Adams slides the key into a port on the wall and the cell door splits apart in three panels, revealing a short staircase down into the chamber below. She strides through the doorway without a backward glance, hearing the door whirr shut behind her.

After descending the stairs, she finds a wide, circular room lit only by the spotlight at its center. Bathed in the glaring light is a standard-issue Imperial interrogation chair, where Hans Westergaard lies propped up at a 45-degree angle. The man's once-pristine hair is draped over his face in a sweaty mop, his wrists and ankles bound by thick metal manacles. Gone is the tailored suit and dress slacks, replaced with white prison garments that accentuate the bruises on his pale skin.

He raises his head off the seat with difficulty as she approaches. A thin smile crosses his lips, so out of place mixed in with the rest of his appearance.

"Hello again, Inquisitor. So nice of you to pay me another visit."

She moves to the control panel at the side of the room, pressing a button to tilt the chair forward until Hans is vertical to the ground.

"This room is fancy," Hans continues, as if he were a guest she was giving a tour to. "I don't suppose you have more than one of these on a star destroyer. I'm honoured you reserved it for me." He pulls lazily on his restraints.

She studies him carefully, walking forward until she's face to face with the man. The strip of metal along Hans's scalp glints from beneath his hair. Without the gloves, the thin metallic veins running down the fingers of his right hand are easily visible. Grotesque. She turns her attention back to his face.

"How did you get the location of the databank station?"

"Please, be reasonable." Hans returns her gaze, eyes glimmering with soft amusement. "Information is my livelihood—asking for my sources is like asking a magician to explain his tricks."

She grits her teeth behind the mask. At the raise of her hand, the needle-tipped arms attached to the sides of the chair fold toward Hans's arms like the legs of a pouncing spider.

"You misunderstand your situation," she states flatly.

"No, the situation is quite clear to me." Hans's tone is abruptly serious, businesslike. He still shows no trace of fear. "You need me to help you find your Jedi. Unfortunately for me, it's clear you're willing to resort to torture to get what you want."

He leans forward toward her as much as his restraints allow.

"Here's where I stand, Inquisitor. My tolerance for pain isn't anything extraordinary, and I would very much prefer not to experience the effects of your infamous Imperial truth serum firsthand. After all, from what I've heard, the pain is such that I may wish for the release of death." Red lights flash along the implant in his scalp as his mouth lifts in a sly smile. "Fortunately for me, I can arrange that on my own terms."

She lowers her hand, lips curling in contempt. The needle-arms slowly unfold as the force pushing them forward eases off.

"Are you threatening suicide, Mister Westergaard? Is your own life worth so little to you?"

"Hardly." Hans leans back into the chair. "I'm merely making a case for more civil negotiation strategies. Now please, may we try a different line of inquiry?"

"Where is Cal Kestis?"

"I'm afraid I don't know."

Her hands clench into fists. Hans's breath fogs in the air.

"I'm beginning to believe my efforts may be better spent elsewhere, Mister Westergaard."

"Such little patience?" Hans chuckles dryly. "That is a neat trick, by the way. You've built quite a reputation for yourself out there. The galaxy hasn't seen anything the likes of you before, Twelfth Sister. Do you know the names they call you in the Outer Rim? The Cold Hand, the Ice Witch, the Sorceress… quite the decorated list. I'm envious."

She stays silent. Hans keeps talking. He leans forward again, his eyes seeming to lock onto hers with pinpoint precision even through the mask's opaque visor.

"Truth be told, I've had a professional interest in you for quite a while now. What's behind that mask, I wonder? Do you wear it because of some physical disfigurement? A respiratory condition, perhaps?"

He pauses, tilting his head.

"You know what I think? I think behind that mask is just a girl. A girl who's let herself become a tool of the Empire because, deep down, she's just as _scared_ as the rest of us."

She doesn't know exactly what compels her to do it. Maybe it's the need to prove Hans wrong. Maybe it's the simple urge to wipe that damnable smile off his face. Lifting her hands to her mask, she unclasps it, staring coldly into Hans's green eyes as she lowers it from her face.

"I am many things, Mister Westergaard. Afraid is not one of them." The words are as cold as ice.

The man contemplates her for a moment, his expression unreadable. For the first time, she catches a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes, and she allows herself a small thrill of satisfaction. Finally, he raises an eyebrow, leaning back until he's pressed into the chair.

"I can't point you to where the Jedi is, Inquisitor. But I might have something better for you. In light of this… present circumstance, I'll even offer it free of charge."

She watches a mischievous glint appear in Hans's eyes, watches the sly smile return.

"What if I told you the Empire already has in custody a former member of the _Mantis's _crew?"

* * *

**Finally, the perspective I'm sure a number of you have been waiting for. How do you like _this_ Elsa? Lots more to come ;)**


	16. The Dark

**The Dark**

The worn iron-sights on the barrel of Anna's blaster pistol hover in front of her squinted eyes.

"You sure about this?"

"Yes. Now hurry up, this is just a demonstration, this isn't even the-"

A bolt of blue light flies at Cal's blindfolded face as she pulls the trigger—only to be intercepted by a swing from his lightsaber.

She fires twice more, once at his chest and once at his legs, but Cal deflects the bolts with effortless twirling motions from his blade. She squeezes off another shot half out of spite, but the bolt goes wide and Cal merely shrugs out of the way. She lowers the blaster incredulously.

"Okay, you have to be cheating."

"Nope, can't see a thing, I promise."

She looses a final shot for good measure, which Cal easily sidesteps as he returns his lightsaber to his waist. Untying the blindfold, he raises an eyebrow at her and holds out the strip of fabric.

"Your turn, Padawan."

Anna's heart beats a little harder. She swallows nervously. She's been hit by stun bolts before, and she's not keen on reliving the experience.

Noticing her hesitation, Cal laughs.

"You keep the blaster for now." A cluster of pebbles floats into the air at his side at the raise of his hand. "We'll start with these."

Anna purses her lips.

It's been a week since she first managed to nudge the rock, and admittedly she's been getting better at the whole meditation thing. Though she's still not sure if she can "feel the living Force", as Cal likes to put it, it _is_ getting easier to extend her awareness away from her body, like stretching a weird spiritual elastic band. Whatever it is, it's enough to make the rock move if she tries hard enough. Once, she even lifted it before she felt a nosebleed coming on.

Clairvoyantly dodging bullets with her eyes closed seems a pretty big step up from lifting a rock, though.

Holstering her blaster, she takes the blindfold and pulls it over her eyes.

"Here."

She peeks out from under the lip of the dark fabric and blinks at the lightsaber now under her nose. Looking up in confusion, she realizes Cal's offering it to her.

"Here… here, me?"

Cal shakes his head with a smirk.

"Yes, you. Take it."

Anna's eyes widen as she picks up the metallic rod in both hands, running a thumb over the worn rubber grip. She turns the weapon over in her hands. It's heavier than she remembers.

"Here I thought it was rigged to explode or something if anyone but you tried to turn it on," she murmurs.

"Now there's an idea." Cal's tone turns somber. "Master Topal always said this weapon was my life. I didn't really get what he meant back then." His hands close over hers. "A lightsaber so much more than just a weapon. It's a Force conduit. It speaks to you, helps you focus." The hands let go. "Go ahead, turn it on."

Anna breathes in and presses the switch.

When the blade ignites, it's like she's taken a breath of fresh air. Abruptly, everything is clearer, sharper, a splash of cold water after a long nap. She tilts the blade this way and that, the drone of the plasma seeming to vibrate through her very bones. She feels _awake_.

"I definitely feel something," she breathes. Cal nods.

"Good. Now put on that blindfold."

The world is thrown into pitch black as Anna lowers the fabric over her eyes.

"Alright, now what?" she asks tentatively.

At first, nothing happens.

A pebble slaps her on the arm and she almost drops the lightsaber.

"Hey! I wasn't ready!"

"You are ready. Trust in the Force."

She raises the lightsaber in front of her.

"Okay… am I supposed to think some magic words, or-" Another pebble strikes her in the stomach. "Ow!"

"Focus, Padawan. Let go of your senses."

She takes a deep breath. For a few seconds, she feels nothing but a creeping sense of awkwardness. But then there's something else, too—something tickling at her perception, a premonition, as if she's forgotten something very important. On instinct, she takes a step backward. A pebble grazes the front of her tunic.

"That's it!" Cal urges.

The premonition grows, urging her to move. Tilting the lightsaber, she's rewarded with a sputtering hiss as a pebble is intercepted by the plasma blade. A foreign instinct compels her to angle the lightsaber again, and again she blocks a pebble. Another pebble comes flying at her legs, but the lightsaber is there before it can reach her. One comes at her face, but she's already stepping aside, intercepting a third stone with a twist of her wrist.

She isn't thinking anymore—she doesn't need to. The heat of the blade drones through the air in harmony with the strange itch in her mind. She still can't see a thing, but it doesn't matter. Revelation after revelation surges through her limbs as she steps and blocks, her movements directed by pure reflex.

She laughs out loud. This is completely insane.

She doesn't know how long she spends in this trance of motion, but eventually the pebbles stop coming. Slowly, she lowers the lightsaber, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Fatigue descends like a cloud of fog. Her forearms ache from clutching the lightsaber so hard.

Another pebble hits her on the shoulder with a loud slap. She tears off the blindfold with an indignant glare.

"Aw, come on, that's not fair!"

But Cal is no longer alone.

Cere stands at his side, dressed in her usual plain outfit, her hands clasped behind her back as she regards Anna with a cool gaze. Realizing the lightsaber is still lit, Anna quickly presses the button to shut it off.

"That was impressive, Anna," Cere nods. "I haven't seen many younglings able to do that on their first lesson. Cal was right—your connection to the Force is strong."

Anna fiddles nervously with the lightsaber, leaning from foot to foot. She suspected that Cere's been keeping tabs on her lessons, of course, but this is the first time the former Jedi's actually showed up in the middle of one. Does Cere still disapprove of her training?

To her relief, Cal steps forward and takes back his weapon.

"She's definitely strong in the Force," he says, "Meditation is coming along slowly, but she's making up for it with how fast she's picking up the combat training." He glances toward Anna with a lopsided smile. "Honestly, there isn't much she can't make up for with that determination of hers."

The hint of pride in his voice has a blush creeping up her cheeks. Cere nods contemplatively, holding Anna's gaze.

"Determination is good, when directed well."

She shivers a little at the warning edge in Cere's words. Cere approaches with slow steps.

"Anna, I have something for you," she states. From the way she says it, it's something important.

Reaching inside her vest, Cere pulls out a semi-circular device made of brushed metal. Chills creep up Anna's spine as she leans in for a closer look.

That's the same lightsaber that Inquisitor was wielding back on the space station.

"I think I've held onto this long enough," Cere says, looking down at the weapon. She turns the hilt, holding the lightsaber out to Anna. "Take it. A Padawan should train with a Jedi's weapon."

Cal puts a hand on Cere's arm.

"Wait, Cere." His voice is quiet, his shoulders tense. "Are you sure about this? I mean, that thing's _killed_ Jedi."

"And what better way to put it back into use than to help train a new Jedi?" Cere's arm doesn't waver. "You said it yourself. Anna has potential. This weapon is in far better hands with her than it is with me."

Cere presses the weapon into Anna's palm. She recoils, half expecting it to burn her skin. Instead, the metal is cool to the touch, completely smooth in contrast to the well-used roughness of Cal's lightsaber.

"Where did you get this?" Anna whispers.

"An Inquisitor," Cere answers softly. "The Second Sister. Once my Padawan."

"Your Padawan became an Inquisitor?"

Cere draws a long breath. She takes another step forward, now face to face with Anna.

"Anna, I never told you why I turned my back on the Force. I think it's time you knew.

"When the Purge started, the brutality was… unimaginable. The troops were cutting down everyone in the Jedi temple. Librarians, servants, _children_, it didn't matter to them. There was no mercy for anyone. I tried to protect as many younglings as I could, but I got captured. They tortured me, found out where my Padawan was hiding. Then they tortured her, turned her to the Dark Side. Made her an Inquisitor."

Cere's voice grows quieter as she speaks. There isn't a single tear in her downcast eyes, but they burn with a pain so sharp Anna can hardly breathe witnessing it.

"When they brought Trilla to me, I snapped. I wanted to kill them all. I didn't care what the consequences were. So I did. I tapped into my hatred and used the Dark Side."

Cere pauses, taking a deep breath. In that moment, she seems older than the planet.

"The Dark Side is… difficult to describe. It's addicting, that kind of power. It whispers to you, twists you into a shade of yourself. After that day, I shut myself away from the Force, vowed to never open myself up to that darkness again. But Cal needed my help."

Cere nods to herself.

"So I told myself I could hold on, that I could stay in control for one last mission. But that day broke me. I saw Trilla again. I saw her turn back to the light. Even after all those years of suffering, she was able to let go of her hate in that last moment. Then Vader cut her down right in front of me, and hate was all that was left."

Cere raises her gaze slowly.

"I was using that very lightsaber," she whispers. "If Cal hadn't been there, I would have been consumed by the dark."

Anna's gaze moves between Cere and the device in her hands. It feels a lot heavier now.

"You held onto this for all this time?" she asks quietly.

"I can't count the number of times I've been tempted to just toss it out the airlock," Cere replies with a bitter chuckle. "But that felt too much like conceding defeat. So instead, I keep it with me as a reminder of why we have to keep fighting." She raises her eyes. "Now, with you, maybe it can be something more."

Anna's thumb feels along the grip of the lightsaber until it finds where the switch is nestled into the metal. This one doesn't press down, so she tries sliding it upward instead. A blade of angry crimson leaps from the end of the hilt with a low tearing sound. It's a different sound than Cal's lightsaber—the buzzing is lower, sharper, deadlier. The crackling plasma bathes her face in raw heat.

This weapon feels _alive_.

She tries to extinguish the blade by sliding the switch in the other direction. Instead, a second blade shoots from the other end of the hilt as the guard snaps open into a full circle around her hand. She drops the weapon with a yelp of surprise. The blades extinguish as the lightsaber clatters to the ground.

"Whoops," she mutters shakily, bending down to pick it back up.

By some automatic mechanism, the guard has folded back into the half-circle from before. She turns it over in her hands, careful to keep her fingers away from the switch.

A lightsaber like this one killed her father. A lightsaber _exactly_ like this one almost killed her. She swallows.

"Cere… I don't know if I can do this."

"I understand." Cere dips her head solemnly. "In that case, you will have to construct your own lightsaber."

"How do I do that?" Anna glances to Cal. "How do you even make a lightsaber?"

"In the time of the Republic, Jedi initiates were sent with Grand Master Yoda to the crystal caves of Ilum to find kyber crystals to power their weapons," Cere explains. She grimaces. "Unfortunately, Ilum is currently occupied by the Empire."

"It's doable," Cal adds quickly. "I went once to get a new crystal to fix my lightsaber, but it was a risky trip." He sighs. "I don't think it's worth going again until you're further along in your training, Anna."

Anna looks back down at the Inquisitor lightsaber in her hands.

"A lightsaber is a tool like any other, Anna," Cere says gently. "It is the intent of the wielder that makes it good or evil. You don't have to keep this one forever, but a lightsaber is part of what makes a Jedi. Training without one is like training with a hand tied behind your back."

Anna takes a deep breath.

"I guess knowing how to use the enemy's weapons can't hurt." Her voice is small.

"My thoughts exactly," Cal nods. "We have to hit back with everything we've got."

"Well…" Anna pats around the belt at her waist. "I'm gonna need a clip for this thing."

"And a practice emitter. Can't have my Padawan cutting herself in half by accident."

Anna rolls her eyes.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Master Kestis."

* * *

It feels like the sun never really rises on Dathomir. It's like there are only two times of day in this place: dusk and night. Anna doesn't know if she'll get the chance to get used to it. After all, it's not like she's going to be here for too much longer.

It's been three weeks since Arendelle. Though Greez insists that between the rations in storage and the food he grows in the terrarium, they can last another solid month before they have to resupply, she doubts it'll take that long before Cere finds something for them to chase. While Cal's been training Anna, Cere's been scouring the frequencies for hints of rebel movements. From the conversations she's overheard between Cere and Greez, Anna knows both the former Jedi and the Latero captain have been holding back their desires to quit this hellhole of a planet to give her more time to train. It can't be long until something too big to pass up rolls along, though.

That, or Greez gets too worried he'll catch some incurable skin condition from the red sunlight.

The Inquisitor saber bounces at her hip, reminding her of its presence with every stride. At least now she'll have more than her blaster to defend herself when the bolts start flying again. The sight of the crimson blade still makes her shudder, but as much as she doesn't want to admit it, Cere was right. The lightsaber is a beacon of cold clarity every time she ignites it in her hand. The electrostaff she was training with before was so restricting in hindsight, like she was fighting blind. She understands now why the Jedi were so feared. The Force is a most powerful ally. And deflecting blaster fire is only the tip of the iceberg.

A chill washes over her at the thought. If this is what she's capable of after so little training, how much more powerful must the Inquisitors be? The memory of the violent whirl of sabers as Cal dueled the Inquisitor in the station corridor flashes behind her eyes. Her heart sinks. How will she ever catch up with _that?_

A series of beeps from over her shoulder jolts her back to reality.

"What's up, BD?"

A map pops into the air in front of her. She groans, glancing around her and looking back at the map. The marker is way off the marked path. She's gotten so distracted that she's gone off the trail.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Another series of beeps, this one sounding more exasperated.

"Okay, okay! I thought sarcasm was Cal's thing. Wait, can droids even be sarcastic?"

She pauses to catch her breath, leaning forward with her hands on her knees. An icy wind touches the back of her neck. She shivers. There's nothing around her but thick coils of thorned vines, the largest of them the thickness of her whole torso. She scrutinizes BD-1's map again.

"This looks like a shortcut back to the ship," she announces more confidently than she feels.

She makes for a gap in the tangled mess of alien foliage. BD-1 trills a quiet note. She can hear him looking around by the little motorized sounds beside her ear.

"Relax, we'll be back on the trail soon," she says, patting the droid on the head.

As the brambles press in from both sides, her feet slow from a jog to a cautious walk. There isn't much space at all on this path with all these vines. More and more overgrowth screens out the rust-coloured sky as she ventures deeper. Soon, the flickering light from BD-1's holoprojector is her only source of light in the gloom.

She rubs her arms, her breath pluming in puffs of white. When did it get so cold? Her head snaps toward a rustling sound from somewhere in the depths of the vines. BD-1 sinks lower behind her shoulder, letting out a quiet chirp.

"Yeah, I don't like this either," she whispers.

Her eyes flit over the map again. The trail should be right through here. Not far now. She hugs herself tightly, trying to preserve any scrap of warmth she can through her meager sleeveless tunic. Her teeth are chattering. Something's wrong. She's _freezing_, but it's not coming from outside. Somehow, the cold is coming from within.

The holoprojector winks out.

"BD?" she calls nervously. "A little help, BD?"

But BD-1 isn't on her shoulder anymore.

"Buddy? Where are you? This—this isn't funny!"

Silence, except the thudding of her own heart.

A sliver of red sky peeks from the gloom ahead. She stumbles toward the light, fighting the cold numbness in her legs—but something is blocking her way. She squints her eyes, trying to pierce the opaque darkness.

There's a child on the path.

"Hey little fella," she calls warily. She takes a few steps forward. "What are you doing out here?"

And that's when she knows she's gone insane, because the child looks exactly the same as her sister from her dreams.

"Anna?" the girl asks fearfully. Scratches and soot mark her pale cheeks. "Anna, you have to help me."

"Elsa?" Anna whispers incredulously.

The child rushes toward her and buries her face in Anna's stomach.

"Please, don't let me go," she sobs. "Don't let them take me!"

Anna hugs the girl close even as icy fear grips her own heart.

"What's happening?" She whips her head around frantically, but there's nothing but thorns and shadows. "Who's trying to take you?"

The cold intensifies. A voice sounds from behind her, modulated and melodic.

"Anna Arrel."

She turns slowly, keeping Elsa hidden with her body. Motes of dust drift out of the gloom. One lands on her cheek, a pinprick of ice.

No, not dust. Snow.

At first, she sees only a faint silhouette, a region of purer dark within the shadows. Then, blinding plasma erupts with a sound that's been burned into her memory forever, bathing the masked figure in blood red.

The Inquisitor.

Anna stumbles backward, fumbling for her own lightsaber with fingers too frozen to obey. Instinctively, she turns to shield Elsa, but her arms close around empty air. The girl is gone.

"Today, the last Arendellian dies," the Inquisitor intones emotionlessly.

Footsteps bear down on her like peals of thunder. She turns in time to see the Inquisitor's lightsaber raise for the killing blow. She can barely even move now. It's so cold it _hurts_. Looking down, she finds whorls of frost crawling down her arms and over her fingers.

The blade rips downward. She screams as red-hot pain slices through her shoulder.

* * *

She's on the ground, her face pressed into the fine red dirt. She opens her eyes to find BD-1's trapezoidal face filling her vision. The little droid lets out a meek chirp, patting the side of her face with a foot.

She blinks away the afterimages of the Inquisitor's blade, gasping for air as she looks around frantically. The darkness is gone. The cold is gone.

The Inquisitor is gone.

"Ugh, what happened?" she groans, trying to push herself up.

Pain shoots through her shoulder, so sharp it makes her eyes water. Craning her neck, she catches a glimpse of two finger-length thorns lodged into her flesh, the surrounding fabric stained black by her blood. She yanks them out with gritted teeth.

"Did you _see_ that, BD?" she gasps, clutching her shoulder and pushing herself to her feet. "There—there was a girl, and an Inquisitor…"

Waves of pulsing heat radiate from her shoulder, worming into a pit of nausea in her stomach. Her head pounds. Those thorns were probably venomous. Everything wants to kill you on Dathomir. BD-1 clambers up her back. There's a brief sting and a familiar burning sensation before the pain dulls to a tolerable level.

She looks around one more time. Nothing but razor-wire vines and a rusty-red sky.

"So that was all in my head, huh?" she mutters under her breath. "Great. Just great."

BD-1 answers with a long series of beeps as he projects the map back into the air in front of Anna's face.

"I guess if you did see it, I wouldn't understand if you told me anyway," she says with a shaky laugh. "Let's just get back to the ship."

Jerking the lightsaber off her belt, she faces the mass of vines in her path and flicks off the safety on the newly installed practice emitters. With a sigh, she ignites the blade and starts hacking away.

* * *

"I was hoping this wouldn't start happening so soon."

Cal paces slowly up and down the lounge floor in front of her. Anna adjusts the cold pack she's been pressing to her swollen shoulder, scooting forward on the couch with a frown.

"What do you mean _so soon?_ You knew this was going to happen?"

Cal sits down beside her on the couch.

"Do you remember what I told you the first time we came here? That dream you had? The Dark Side is very strong on Dathomir. It… messes with you."

Anna's brow furrows.

"But this wasn't a memory this time," she insists. "This felt _real_."

Cal folds his hands.

"Tell me what you saw again?"

Anna swallows.

"It was dark. And cold. I've never felt so cold in my life." She looks down at her hands, trying to shake the image of her fingers crawling with frost. "I saw my sister, exactly like I remembered her from my dreams. Then I saw the Inquisitor from the space station."

There's something sharper than concern in Cal's eyes as he meets her gaze.

"I had visions too, when I first came to Dathomir," he says quietly. "I saw my master. In the vision, he blamed me for his death." He lets out a dry chuckle. "It's how I broke my lightsaber, actually. I crushed it with my bare hands, can you believe it?"

Anna nods. "Cere mentioned something about a test when you tried to get inside the Nightsister temple."

Cal raises an eyebrow. "She told you about that?"

"I wanted to know more about Nightsister Merrin." Anna sheepishly brushes strands of hair behind her ear. Her hand stops mid-brush, and she drops it into her lap, clenching it into a fist. Cal has no right to make her feel ashamed about that, of all things. "The point is, _I_ wasn't in some creepy temple, I was in the middle of a giant thorn bush. What could possibly have been testing me there?"

"The Force surrounds us," Cal answers with a dry smile. "It's always testing us." His expression darkens. "The Dark Side responds to negative emotions—fear, anger, hate. After what happened to your people, your family… well, there's plenty of things that could have triggered that Force vision."

Anna keeps staring into her lap. The feeling of little Elsa's arms around her waist won't go away. The hairs on her arms stand on end as chills run down her spine. Cal's brow furrows as her eyes go wide.

"Is something wrong?"

"Cal, back on the mountain, you said something about being able to _feel_ that Merrin was still alive. What did you mean by that?"

"Well, as I said, the Force surrounds us." Cal takes a step back, tilting his head thoughtfully. "If you listen hard enough, it tells you things. It's like music, a big cosmic chord. If Merrin died, I'd notice the missing note."

"Would I be able to… _feel _if my sister was still alive through the Force?"

Cal raises an eyebrow. "Anna… is that what this is about? Do you think your sister could still be alive?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Anna sighs. "It's just… what if that vision was a sign? What if my sister is still alive out there somewhere, alone and confused and _terrified_, just like I was?" The image of Elsa huddled in the corner of some dingy alleyway has her shivering.

A gentle hand touches her arm.

"If she's out there, we'll find her eventually," Cal soothes. "But we can't lose focus, Anna. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Dathomir really isn't the best place for a new Padawan."

Anna nods weakly, not trusting her voice. She starts to push herself off the couch, but Cal interrupts.

"And Anna… about Merrin." He exhales. "I think I owe you an explanation."

"Oh. Now?" She turns, surprised, but Cal isn't meeting her gaze anymore.

"It's no secret that I'm not the best Jedi," he starts with a chuckle. "I thought maybe that's a good thing. Still do, most of the time. The Jedi fell to the Sith, after all, so they had to be doing something wrong. To have a chance against the Empire, I shouldn't be flexible to avoid the same mistakes. That's the excuse I gave myself, anyway.

"I really thought Merrin and I had a chance. A Jedi shall not know love, yeah, yeah, but I was willing to pretend that line in the Code didn't exist. I liked her, she liked me, it seemed simple enough. It's not like there was anyone left around who'd slap me on the wrist for breaking the rules." He smiles ruefully. "Cere took some convincing, but eventually even she came around. I think she just wanted us to be happy."

"What happened?" Anna ventures. She watches the muscles of Cal's jaw clench.

"There's a reason that line is in the Code, Anna. I didn't see it at first, but I couldn't deny it forever. My emotions got clouded. I started losing focus whenever I saw Merrin in danger—and she was in danger a lot. It almost cost us both our lives, and not just once or twice. I had to end it. She… didn't like that."

At some point, Anna started holding her breath. She doesn't dare start breathing now.

"Some days, I wonder if she left on that mission because of me," Cal finishes, his voice so low it's barely audible.

Anna takes a single step closer. "Cal, I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"Don't apologize." Anna sucks in a breath at the sudden sharpness Cal's words. He sighs. "I'm just sorry I can't be what you want me to be. I hope you can forgive me."

Oh-so-selfishly, her heart sinks.

"I guess we both have bigger things to worry about, anyway," she manages, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone. She stands up again, lightsaber in hand, letting the cold pack drop to the floor with a thud. "Come on. I have a few things I want to ask about those moves you taught me yesterday."

"Okay." Cal rises slowly. There's a hint of pain in his gaze.

She's halfway to the exit when Cere's voice sounds from the cockpit.

"Cal. I think you'll want to see this."

They freeze at the same time. Cal begins making for the cockpit, shooting Anna an apologetic glance over his shoulder. After a second of hesitation, she follows.

"What's up?" Cal asks as they pass the threshold.

Greez is leaning beside the comms terminal with both sets of arms folded over his chest. Lines of glowing text scroll on screen, most of it incomprehensible. Cere's hands fly over the keys at the dashboard.

"This just came through a secure Imperial frequency," she states gravely.

The text rearranges into a table on the terminal.

"A shipping manifest?" Cal asks, leaning forward with his hands on the back of the seat.

Cere nods, giving him a meaningful look over her shoulder.

"Yes, except the goods in this case are prisoners."

Anna's eyes scan over the names on the list. It's not a long list, and it doesn't take long for her to find it. She hears the leather of Cal's glove squeak as he clenches his fist, hard.

_Name: Merrin  
Affiliation: Member of "Nightsister" Cult  
Force Sensitive: Yes_

* * *

**Hop over to AO3 and check out the amazing movie poster style fanart that RinWyn sketched for this fic!**


	17. Reach, But Not Quite Hold

**Reach, But Not Quite Hold**

"I'm telling ya, kid. It's a trap."

Cal paces up and down the cockpit. From her usual spot on the bench beside the holotable, Anna watches a crease form in his brow at the captain's words. The electric tunnel of hyperspace swirls outside the window, casting the edges of his face in a shifting contrast of light and shadow.

"Cere intercepted the message from an encrypted channel," he says, shaking his head stiffly. "That doesn't sound like a trap to me."

"Or maybe the person setting the trap is more clever than you think," Cere retorts calmly. She holds up her hands before Cal can launch a rebuttal. "Look, I'm with you here. If there's any chance Merrin is still alive, we owe it to her to get her out of there. But we have to be careful about this. We're no good to her if we end up captured ourselves. Or dead."

"It's too bad the witch is the one who needs rescuing," Greez laughs humorlessly. "This whole thing would be a lot easier if we had her invisibility powers. The _Mantis_ runs quiet, but all it takes is for someone on that transport to look out the window and we're toast."

"We'll be fine if we stick to the plan," Cal states firmly. "Cere, bring up the ship layout."

Cere sighs and turns back to the console. The unwieldy shape of a fat, rectangular vessel appears on the comm terminal, its shapes vaguely familiar to Anna's eyes. Goosebumps run down her arms. She heard rumours back in the Outer Rim about people being taken away by those things—people who were never heard from again.

"It's a _Lictor_-class dungeon ship, practically a flying antique," Cal continues. "It's no warship. Plenty of blind spots in the defensive turrets." The turrets highlight themselves on the wire-frame model, along with shaded projections of their firing angles. "If we stay thirty degrees behind the command deck, we should be well out of reach."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Cal, but the _Mantis_ ain't exactly a warship either," Greez scoffs.

"In case of a fighter escort, we'll need to take out the TIE's first," Cal pushes on. "Then, we blast through into the loading bay with proximity mines." A square plate in the middle of the ship blinks red as he points to it. "Once inside, BD-1 and I will search for Merrin, while the rest of you cover the ship. With any luck, she'll be down in the holding cells. It shouldn't take long to find her."

"What about me?" Anna ventures. "I can help."

Cal immediately shakes his head.

"It's too dangerous. If they capture you, they gain another Force-sensitive to turn into an Inquisitor, and this whole mission would have been for nothing."

"Hey, I've held my own before, and now I have this!" Anna waves the Inquisitor saber in the air. "Come on, we could search twice as fast with the both of us."

Cal grimaces.

"You know I'm right," Anna pushes.

"Fine," Cal exhales. "But if you see Purge Troopers, you run, got it? Those guys have been training for years to kill Jedi. You've been training less than a month."

Anna nods quickly.

"What kind of resistance are we expecting, anyway?" She squints at the ship schematics, tracing the hallways from the loading bay area.

"Guard droids, most likely," Cere answers. "_Lictors_ are specifically made to transport Force-sensitives. Using humans risks the guards getting mind-tricked."

"More droids. Fantastic," Greez deadpans.

"Better droids than an Inquisitor," Cere says in a low voice. "We have to be ready for anything." She turns to lock eyes with Cal. "That includes the possibility that Merrin's already been brainwashed, do you understand?"

Cal grits his teeth audibly. "We owe it to her to try."

There's a tense pause.

"Hey, is the _Mantis _even going to fit through there?" Greez scratches a sideburn, tilting his head at the schematic.

"It'll be a tight fit, but we'll make it," Cal answers tersely.

"We'd better not lose the fin, or there'll be hell to pay, kid," Greez mutters with a shake of his head.

"That depends on your flying, captain," Cal deadpans.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?" A warning light blinks on the dashboard and Greez turns back to grab the flight column. "Alright, grab some seat and strap in, folks. Let's hope that estimated route wasn't too far off the money."

The hull rumbles as hyperspace splits apart in front of them to reveal a sea of blinding plasma.

"Watch out!" Anna shouts.

"Relax, would ya?" Greez chuckles, pulling back on the throttle and bringing the ship to a slow drift. "We're at a safe distance."

The windows dim gradually until the star in front of them mellows to a dull reddish-brown. Solar flares erupt from the roiling surface, spewing arcs of molten plasma far into the void above.

"Where are we?" Anna asks, blinking to clear the spots from her vision from the searing light.

"Corsin. Red giant," Cere explains. "If the manifest is correct, it's one of the nodes on the prison ship's jump path to the Mustafar system."

"Why Mustafar?" Anna frowns. "Isn't that like, a mining planet?"

"The Fortress Inquisitorius is in that system," Cal growls. "They must want to turn Merrin into an Inquisitor." He rotates his seat to face the comms station, his expression tight. "Cere, anything on the sensors?"

"Nothing yet. Patience, Cal. We might be here a while. That's _if_ the ship even shows up."

"It'll show up," Cal turns back and gazes out the window. "It has to." The words are barely above a whisper.

The cockpit lapses into heavy silence. Anna keeps her eyes on Cal, watching the muscles of his jaw work under the skin. This whole situation is clearly getting to him more than he wants to admit. Half of her wants to take his hand, tell him that they'll find Merrin, that everything will be alright. The other, selfish half wants to convince him to let the Nightsister go for good.

She lowers her gaze back to her lap, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. She can't be thinking like that.

Absently, she turns the lightsaber over in her hand, sweeping her gaze over the guard. The places where the blades come out at the ends—emitters, Cal calls them—are now covered by protruding pieces of metal and glass welded over top, joined at the middle of the handle by a simple system of hinged rods connected to a sliding switch. Cal's handiwork. She plays with the switch, watching the lenses rotate in and out of position.

Practice. Lethal. Practice. Lethal.

Cal isn't the only one with a stake in this mission. This is Anna's first mission as a Jedi Padawan. Today makes it all real.

Practice. Lethal. Practice. Lethal.

Today might be the day she makes her first kill with this lightsaber.

Memories come trickling back to her: the stormtroopers she shot on Sakiya, the Purge Trooper she shot on the space station. She winces. Is this what she is now? A killer? A murderer? Taking a deep breath, she places the lightsaber down on the bench beside her. The weight of the blaster hanging across her chest is suddenly suffocating.

It wasn't long ago that she thought the Jedi were a bunch of terrorists. It wasn't long ago that she thought she was just a random orphan girl. A part of her still holds onto the stubborn hope that one day, she'll wake up and the world will go back to normal, back to when things still made sense. But things will never be normal. Things were never normal to begin with.

The Empire is the enemy. That's the only normal she needs. She screws her eyes shut, her fingers closing around the smooth hilt of the lightsaber.

"Picking up Imperial comms chatter," Cere announces.

"What are they saying?" Cal demands. "Is it the transport?"

Anna's eyes snap back open. She returns the lightsaber back to her belt.

"Can't get much more than static. They must be using a scrambler. Streaming the coordinates to you, captain."

"Aye aye."

Greez pushes the throttle up a notch and the whine of the engine turbines starts up again. There's a faint sense of falling as the _Mantis _picks up speed.

"We're in luck, seems the signal is coming from this side of the star," the captain announces. "Would take hours to swing around to this big boy."

The star's blazing horizon drops away as the ship pitches upward.

"Switching to low power," Greez announces, flicking two switches on the dashboard. Immediately, the pitch of the engines deepens to an almost-inaudible hum.

"Hold course, the signal's getting stronger," Cere reports with a hand to her headset.

"I think I see it!" Cal exclaims.

Anna leans forward, peering out the front window. At first, it seems like just another stain on the glass, but soon it's obvious it's something outside, moving, shifting, growing. A bulky silhouette resolves in front of them, its sharp, industrial edges gleaming white and red with Corsin's reflected light.

"That's our target," Cere nods. "No fighter escort. This is our chance."

"So much for laying low," Greez says with a sigh. He eases up on the throttle. "Cal, get on the mines."

"On it."

"Wait, this ship has a mine layer?" Anna asks in disbelief.

Cal shoots her a lopsided smile on his way out of the cockpit. "You're looking at him."

Before she has a chance to ask what the heck that's supposed to mean, he disappears into the back of the ship.

A bolt of laser fire whizzes past the window, bathing the cockpit in a flash of red.

"I think someone looked out a window!" Greez shouts.

Anna's stomach lurches as the captain twists the flight sticks, plunging the _Mantis _into a tight roll. The engines stutter for an instant before they scream back to full power.

"Get above them! Most of the turrets are in the belly!" Cere shouts.

"Easier said than done when we're _below them!_" Greez yells back.

The form of the dungeon ship spins wildly outside the window as the _Mantis _pulls a corkscrew turn, narrowly dodging another volley of cannon fire. Ann's stomach does a little somersault of nausea. She really needs to talk to Greez about installing another\ chair in the cockpit so she can stop tossing around on this glorified sofa when he pulls these fancy moves.

"They're spooling the engines up for a jump!" Cere jabs her finger at the readings on the comm station terminal. "We're going to lose them!"

"Not on my watch," Greez says through gritted teeth, leaning over and pushing the throttle to the limit. "Cal, how are those mines looking?"

"_Ready when you are,"_ Cal's voice answers through the dashboard speaker.

The ridged belly of the dungeon ship fills the cockpit as lasers continue to fly past them by terrifyingly narrow margins. Anna is plastered into her seat as Greez starts a sharp upward bank. The flank of the ship zooms along beside them, huge and way too close for comfort. The gaping barrels of a quad-turbolaser array stare straight at her through the cockpit glass.

"Look out!" Anna shouts.

Before the words have fully left her mouth, the hull jolts as bolts of blue plasma streak out from beneath the _Mantis_, striking the base of the turret and igniting it in a blaze of fire and melted shrapnel. Flecks of debris rattle off the window as the ship pierces through the cloud of smoke without slowing.

"This is it, Cal! Those mines better be ready!" Greez yells. "The rest of you, hold onto something."

He punches a button on the dash and Anna's eyes widen. That's the button to open the doors.

"What are you-"

The rest of her sentence is stolen from her lungs by a sudden blast of gale-force wind as alarms blare across the lounge. Hair flying wildly around her face, she twists her head in time to see a thin force-field flash across the now-open doorway, sealing off the exit from the vacuum beyond.

Cal stands by the doorway, propping up two metallic cylinders in front of him, each half his height and probably twice his weight. Orange lights flash up and down the devices in rippling patterns.

"Approaching the target in three… two…" Greez announces steadily.

Cal closes his eyes, taking a single breath. He takes his hands off the mines, but they don't fall; instead, they rise gently off the floor to float in the air in front of him.

"One," he finishes in unison with the captain.

The air shimmers in front of Cal's open hands. The mines catapult out of the doorway in a blur. He lunges forward, punching the button on the doorframe and sealing the doors with a crash of steel. The alarms stop. For an instant, everything is quiet.

The ship is knocked sideways by a vast force, throwing Anna roughly to the floor. Yellow fire and blue plasma flash outside the lounge windows, casting their light in streaks over the durasteel walls. The hull shudders and groans around her in protest as the alarms start again with greater urgency.

"That's the ticket!" Greez cackles. "Direct hit!"

The _Mantis's _nose whips around to face the side of the dungeon ship. Twisted sheet metal bulges inward around the jagged edge of a massive hole torn into its lower hull, spewing sparks and debris into the void. As Anna watches, segmented emergency seals begin rushing in to fill the gap from the right edge of the breach.

"Turn around, we can't make that!" Cere exclaims.

"We'll make it!" Cal shouts over her.

"Cal, you're going to get us killed!" Cere yells.

"Too late now," Greez states through gritted teeth. "This'll be ugly!"

He reaches over his head and yanks down on a small lever. The yacht's fin rotates into landing position with a heavy whirring sound. Anna scrambles back onto the seat, pressing herself to the wall for dear life. Her heart thunders as the gaping maw in the dungeon ship's flank grows through the cockpit.

One-third of the way across the breach, the emergency seals grind to a halt with a shower of sparks. The remaining hole is way too small for the _Mantis._ Even Anna can see that.

At the last second, Greez throws the ship horizontal with the hull breach, nearly launching Anna right back out of her seat. The edges of the rupture rush over the window, swallowing the _Mantis _whole with the deafening tear of steel. The turbines scream as they reverse direction. Everything shakes as the bottom of the ship meets the floor of the loading bay, throwing the world beyond the cockpit into a shrieking blur of sparks and confusion.

The ship grinds to a stop, leaving metallic creaks and heavy breathing as the only sounds left in the cockpit.

"Is everyone okay?" Cal asks cautiously.

"Alive," Anna gasps.

"Oh, this is bad, this is very bad." Greez's hands fly over the dashboard as he frantically checks the displays." We lost half the fin. Two of the gear legs are snapped. This thing only has three gear legs!"

"Can she still fly?" Cal urges.

"You better hope she can still fucking fly, kid, or we're already dead!"

"Every moment we spend here is costly," Cere cuts in firmly. "Cal, Anna, focus on finding Merrin. Greez and I will make sure we have a way out."

Anna nods and rises to her feet, shaking herself as she skirts around the holotable toward the exit. The doors slide open before she reaches the panel. Cal made it to the button before her. They lock eyes for a moment, breathing heavily.

"Here, you'll need this." Cal fishes something small and silver out of a pocket in his vest and hands it to her. "Keep in contact. BD can track this radio, so we'll give you directions."

Then they're stepping down the ramp, her boots meeting the debris-strewn floor of the loading bay. A large chunk of dark steel juts from where it's impaled into the opposite wall, leaking some type of coolant in a steady drip onto the floor. Sparks spurt feebly from the flickering lights along the edges of the cavernous room as a strong wind sucks Anna's ponytail out to the side. The emergency panels are still stuck attempting to seal the hole in the wall from Cal's mines, but a shimmering barrier has glossed over the rest of the breach—though it's apparently not quite enough to fully seal the room from the vacuum outside.

She's so busy staring out toward Corsin that she almost trips over the body of a black security droid sprawled in front of her. Her hand flies instinctively to her blaster.

"Looks like your explosion took out the welcoming party," she says out the corner of her mouth, poking at a lifeless arm with the toe of her boot. Glancing around, she finds three more droids in varying degrees of destruction lying around the ship.

"Let's not push our luck." Cal points to a door set into the far wall beneath the embedded shard of metal. "You take that corridor. It should lead straight to the lower cell blocks at the front of the ship. I'll sweep the upper level." He takes her gently by the arm, a hint of uncertainty in his gaze. "May the Force be with you."

With that, Cal takes a running start at the wall, continuing his run vertically for two gravity-defying strides before leaping up and hoisting himself onto a ledge. In an instant, he's gone, swallowed by the shadows of an upper-level doorway.

Fingers resting over the handle of her blaster, Anna makes for the door Cal pointed to. It's locked—no surprise there—but the old tactic of three shots to the control panel has the desired effect.

The corridor behind the door is lit by strips of emergency lighting, pulsing in time with a blaring alarm. She strains her ears as she ventures forward, but aside from the soft scuff of her own boots and the incessant screech of the alarm tone, there doesn't seem to be any movement ahead. The lights and alarms remind her of the other Imperial corridor she's snuck down in recent history, and her fingers instinctively tighten their grip on her pistol.

Down a small set of stairs, the corridor widens into a long room with a low, grated ceiling, empty except for a simple grey console near the center. The alarms are quieter here. Large hexagonal doors line the walls, four in total, with a fifth facing her from the opposite end of the corridor. All of them are closed.

She approaches the console and taps on the holoscreen. It takes a few seconds for the display to light up.

_Insert code cylinder to authenticate._

She groans.

"Cal, I'm in a room with five doors, but they're all closed," she whispers into the radio's tiny receiver. "The console is asking for a 'code cylinder'?" She starts making air quotes before realizing Cal can't see her hands.

"_I'm seeing a similar setup over here. BD's gonna try to lend you a hand."_

The message on the screen begins to flash and distort. An error symbol replaces the text, but the door remains firmly shut.

"_No luck on the doors, Anna, they're on isolated control circuits. BD managed to pull some data on the prisoners, though." _A short pause. "_Hmm, that's strange. Looks like only the cell at the very end is currently occupied on your level."_

The console goes dark. Something whirs to life under the floor.

"How am I supposed to get through the door?"

"_You have a lightsaber, Padawan. Use it."_

Right.

The sound of sliding metal rings out as two circular openings appear in the floor behind the console. She's not liking this.

"Cal?" she hisses nervously. "Cal, are you doing this?"

Dark, humanoid figures with lamplike eyes and spindly limbs rise from the holes, fixing their expressionless gazes on her in unison. Security droids.

"_Security breach detected," _intones the first.

"_Initiating subdue-by-force protocols," _announces the second.

"_Anna, what's going on down there?" _Cal's voice drifts up from the receiver.

"Call you back in a sec," Anna squeaks, quickly pocketing the radio before loosing off two shots at the first droid. The blaster bolts strike it squarely in the chest, leaving only faint scores on the matte black metal. The droid glances down at the burn marks, then back up at her. She gulps.

"Sorry, itchy finger."

Then she's tucking into a roll as the droid charges her, its arms outstretched with murderous intent. Leaping back to her feet, she stuffs her pistol back in its holster with gritted teeth—it's clearly not going to help her against these things. The second droid towers in her vision, mechanical fists swinging down like sledgehammers, striking the ground centimeters from her feet and making divots in the metal floor as she dives out of the way.

"_Target is dodging," _the first droid states matter-of-factly, rotating its torso to face Anna.

Her hand moves to grasp the lightsaber at her hip. There's a sharp whine as the droid winds back for a bone-shattering punch. She closes her eyes as she unclips the hilt from her belt.

Time to try out her new tricks.

Waiting in the darkness behind her eyelids, she lets go of her senses. The saber seems to warm in her hand. The premonition answers.

"_Bashing."_

The wind from the droid's blow tickles her nose as she twists backward at the last moment. Her eyes open as she ignites the lightsaber, swinging upward before it has a chance to pull back. An arm clatters to the floor with the screech of plasma rending metal.

The second droid charges at her, but it's as if it's moving in slow motion. She ducks deftly under its grabbing hands, aiming a swing at its legs. Searing light cleaves through dense metal like a knife through butter, severing one leg at the thigh. She jumps back from the droid's flailing arms as it crashes to the floor, clawing at her on its way down.

Too late, she realizes the first droid is still very much operational.

"_Unproductive, human," _a mechanical voice intones.

Fingers like vices grab her by the throat, hoisting her effortlessly off her feet. She claws at the droid's hand, but it's about as effective as trying to pry open a hydraulic press. She can't breathe. She flails in panic as spots swim in her vision.

There's a sharp tearing sound and a shower of sparks. Her back meets the ground, knocking the trapped air from her lungs. The hand is gone from her throat. Gasping for breath, she pushes herself off the floor to find the droid staring at the glowing stump left of its remaining arm with a quizzical tilt of its round head.

"_Logging maintenance request."_

"Wish I could do that," Anna chokes, tightening her grip on the lightsaber.

The second droid lifts itself from the floor behind her, clawing its way toward her like a parapelegic spider. Anna backs up until both droids are in front of her and raises her blade with a sigh.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Two swings later, the headless bodies of both security droids collapse limply at her feet.

"_Anna? Anna, come in!"_

"I'm here," she gasps into the comm. "Had a bit of a disagreement with some security droids."

"_Damn it! Are you alright?"_

"I'm fine." Rubbing her bruised throat, she glances down at the still-sparking remains of the droids. "The lightsaber helped."

There's a long pause with sounds of distant crashing and BD-1 chirping.

"What was that?"

"_We ran into some droids up here, too. We're starting on the cell blocks now."_

"I'm on my way to the door."

"_Stay on guard, Anna."_ A long pause. "_I sense something."_

Lowering the receiver, Anna walks to the door at the end of the room and puts a hand to the cold durasteel. It feels as sturdy as solid stone. Igniting the lightsaber with a sigh, she grasps it with both hands and sinks the blade up to the hilt. The wall hisses and groans as it parts begrudgingly under the beam of plasma. The going is slow. A deep sense of unease grows with each passing moment.

If only the Force were a bit more specific with what exactly she needs to be scared of.

By the time she manages to carve an outline large enough for her to fit through, she's sweating from standing so close to the red-hot metal. Two kicks later, the carved piece of door falls inward with a heavy thud. She extinguishes the lightsaber and ducks into the hole. The room beyond is small, barely the size of the _Mantis's _lounge. Clinical white light casts everything into sharp relief. Tangles of tubes and wires hang from the ceiling like robotic snakes, converging to a single contraption at the center of the chamber.

It takes her a moment to realize the contraption contains a person.

The room is a holding cell, the most elaborate holding cell she's ever seen. The prisoner's limbs are forced spread-eagle within thick shackles, each attached to a separate cluster of cables. The torso area is completely concealed underneath bands of interlocking clamps glowing with some kind of electrical energy. A mask attached to another set of tubes is strapped over the prisoner's nose and mouth. The rest of the prisoner's face is visible, her tattooed skin peeking out beneath loose locks of grey-white hair.

The prisoner's eyes open, striking maroon irises locking straight with Anna's. For a few breaths, they stare at each other, motionless.

"Are you Nightsister Merrin?" Anna asks cautiously.

The woman's eyes widen slightly, her eyes sweeping over Anna's clothing before fixing on the lightsaber still clutched in her hand.

"Who… are you?" Her breathing is slow and laboured through the mask.

"I'm here to help," Anna answers carefully. "I'm with Cal Kestis."

"Cal is here?"

The woman suddenly bucks against her restraints, causing the contraption to sway and creak. Anna takes a step back, thumb hovering warily over the lightsaber switch. She jerks the receiver up to her mouth.

"Cal, I think I found her!"

"_What? Are you sure?"_

"Greyish hair, red eyes, tattoos all over her face?"

"_Stay there, we're coming."_

Anna turns back to Merrin. "We're here to rescue you," she announces.

"This is what she wanted," the woman hisses. "You shouldn't be here, it's a trap!"

"Do you know how to open those restraints?" Taking another glance around the room, Anna finds nothing that looks like a control panel of any sort.

"The restraints can only be unlocked… from the bridge," Merrin gasps, her body sagging back down with exertion. "Please, you're not… listening. There's an Inquisitor here."

Static pops from the comm.

"_... Cal, where are you? We need support at the-"_

Cere's words are drowned out by blaster fire.

"Cere?" The only answer is more static. "Cal, what's going on?"

More silence except for a distant buzzing noise. Electrostaffs? Her pulse quickens.

"Cal? Cere? Anybody?"

Static. Cold fingers wrap around Anna's heart.

There's a low shriek of metal on metal as the damaged door slides open behind her. She freezes at the sound.

"Well, this is unexpected."

Shit. It's _that _voice.

She whirls, igniting the lightsaber and holding it in front of her. There, in the center of the now-open doorway, stands the Inquisitor. The glare from the blade gleams off the edges of the woman's mask as she steps closer, seemingly unfazed.

"I was hoping Cal Kestis would be the first to find the prisoner," she intones. "Then again, he's probably otherwise occupied at the moment."

The Inquisitor continues her advance, her boots striking the floor in a slow, methodical rhythm. The hilt of her lightsaber glimmers from her belt. For the first time, Anna notices more lightsabers lining the side of the Inquisitor's uniform. That can't mean anything good.

"Stay back!" she warns.

The Inquisitor stops just short of the tip of Anna's blade. She backs up instinctively, trying to force down the fear rising in her chest. Focus. She can do this. Clenching her jaw, she plants her feet wide.

"I will give you one chance." The Inquisitor's tone is pleasant, almost cordial. "Surrender now, or die."

As an answer, Anna lunges forward, stabbing toward the Inquisitor's chest. The lightsaber meets nothing but air as her opponent feints to the side with shocking speed.

"You disappoint me," the Inquisitor states, igniting her own blade with a sweep of her arm.

The woman is upon her like a whirlwind. Immediately, Anna knows she's in way over her head. Cal was clearly holding back in his practice duels with her, looking to perfect her technique rather than break through her defenses. The Inquisitor holds nothing back.

It seems like Anna doesn't even have the time to block one blow before the next comes screaming at her in a blur of searing scarlet. She's forced back by the flurry of attacks, trying desperately to move out of range, but the Inquisitor presses forward relentlessly. Her back meets the wall. She raises her saber with a defiant cry as the Inquisitor's blade comes arcing down. Red grinds on red with a furious plasma crackle.

"That weapon doesn't belong to you," the Inquisitor says, low and deadly. She presses harder and twists.

Suddenly, the lightsaber is flying out of Anna's hands. It clatters to the floor near the doorway, far out of reach.

"You chose the wrong side, girl."

The Inquisitor raises her arm for the final blow, and Anna's panic finally boils over.

A blinding pain pierces her temples. Time stops. Her vision disappears, replaced with images flashing through her mind. A blizzard. Mattias's smile. An obsidian pedestal. Four glowing symbols. A diamond within a diamond within a diamond within a…

White-hot energy surges through her body, too much for her to contain. She screams, thrusting her palms forward. Twin gouts of fire pour forth, engulfing the Inquisitor and sending her flying backward to land in a burning heap at the far end of the room.

Anna stares down at her hands, blinking in shock. What the…

The temperature in the room abruptly drops twenty degrees. The Inquisitor rises slowly, the flames licking at her body doused by a blast of frigid wind. Frost spreads outward across the floor from her feet.

Anna doesn't need to see behind that opaque mask to know this woman is _pissed._ Dashing for the door, she scoops up her lightsaber and runs for her life.

"Cal, Cere, please someone!" she pants, sprinting up the stairs as fast as her legs will allow. "It's a trap. The Inquisitor is here!"

Bursting through the final doorway and into the loading bay, she finds a scene of chaos. Cal stands at the foot of the _Mantis's_ entrance, twin blades blurring as he fends off two Purge Troopers beating down at him with crackling electrostaffs. Blaster bolts strike the yacht's hull behind him, alternating with bursts of fire from the entrance ramp as Cere and Greez trade shots with another pair of Purge Troopers.

Anna flinches as a shot whizzes overhead.

"_Someone get that girl!" _one of the troopers shouts.

There's movement on an upper balcony. Anna watches in horror as two stormtroopers wheel up a turbolaser cannon twice their size and begin assembling it with the muzzle pointed squarely down toward the ship.

She raises her lightsaber just in time to deflect another bolt. She starts to run again, fixing her eyes squarely on the troopers surrounding Cal and clenching her fist. It's her turn to do the rescuing.

The floor shakes with heavy footsteps. A hulking, armoured figure steps into her path, forcing her to skid to a halt. Baring her teeth, she swings at him with the lightsaber—only to be met with the shaft of a long, bulky weapon, half hammer, half glaive. The Purge Trooper pushes back with enough force to stagger her, whirling the hammer over his head as it buzzes with electricity.

"_Goodnight, traitor."_

She moves to block the trooper's swing, but the hammer strikes the ground instead. Her moment of confusion is shattered by a wave of pain that knocks her to the floor. She tries to get up, to move, but her muscles are seized and spasming. Through the smoke rising off her tunic, she sees the blurry silhouette of the Inquisitor striding toward her from the hallway to the cell blocks.

Then the hammer trooper flies over her head, smashing into the wall with a loud crunch.

"Greez, start the ship." Cere's voice is much closer than it should be.

"Cere, no!" That's Cal.

"Cal, get her to the ship. I'll hold them off."

Another distorted cry. The crash of armour plates on durasteel flooring.

She's dimly aware of someone picking her up and hoisting her limp form over their shoulders. More blaster bolts fly around them, but none meet their mark. The surface of a familiar-looking ramp replaces the floor as the walls of the _Mantis _lounge surrounds her. Her back meets soft couch cushions.

The hull rumbles beneath her as the engines begin to spool. She rolls onto the floor with a groan, propping herself up on trembling arms. Blaster fire and screams continue from the open doorway. She drags herself toward the exit, but stops dead at the sight awaiting her outside the door.

Cere stands over the motionless body of a Purge Trooper, feinting and pivoting as she fires her blaster with deadly accuracy. Her other hand is outstretched, projecting a wall of shimmering light between her and the troopers firing down on her from the balcony. Cal sprints toward her, his saber a wheel of molten green as he deflects blaster fire from every direction. Cere turns back, her face twisted in a grimace of effort.

"Cal, there's no time! _Go!_"

A blaster bolt sneaks past the barrier and strikes Cere on the shoulder, drawing out a bellow of pain, but she holds fast. Cal falters.

"I won't leave you!"

"I'm not giving you a choice."

There's a low blast and a gust of wind that throws Cal off his feet, sending him flying back toward the _Mantis_. Cere turns back toward the Purge Troopers advancing on her. Casting her blaster aside, she raises both hands, her fingers curling into claws. The troopers around her go stiff, their hands scrabbling helplessly at their necks as they're lifted into the air.

"This is for Trilla, you sons of bitches."

Cere throws her arms downward, and the troopers crumple to the ground, their limbs contorted at unnatural angles. For a moment, everything is still.

Then a blade of red plasma emerges from Cere's back.

The woman falls to her knees, revealing the Inquisitor standing behind her. Half the Inquisitor's uniform is in tatters, strips of pale skin showing through the tears in the burnt fabric. She extends her arm and the lightsaber returns to her hand.

"_No!"_ Cal screams raggedly, leaping to his feet and reigniting his blade.

"Cal," Cere chokes. "Don't waste this chance."

The Inquisitor tosses the former Jedi aside with a wave of her hand and advances on the _Mantis._ For an instant, Anna thinks Cal is going to face the Inquisitor head-on, but another volley of blaster fire rains down from the balcony, forcing him back. With an agonized cry, he throws himself onto the ramp. Anna grabs him by the hand and pulls him into the ship.

"Time to go!" she shouts toward the cockpit.

The engines roar as the floor of the loading bay drops away. The doors slide shut. Cal's hand is squeezing hers so hard it hurts.

A shudder runs down the length of the ship. The whine of the engines rises to a screaming pitch. She runs into the cockpit, where Greez is fighting the control column with his whole body.

"What's going on?"

"Look!" Greez yells.

Following Greez's finger, Anna's heart sinks. The _Mantis _is halfway back into space, but they've stopped moving. The Inquisitor stands below them at the edge of the rupture, her gloved hands raised toward the ship, fingers splayed. Holding them in place. On the balcony, the turbolaser cannon pivots in their direction.

"Fire, fire the cannons!" Cal yells.

Greez squeezes the trigger, but nothing happens. Frost begins to creep across the glass. The turbolaser fires once, rocking the ship as the deflector shields pulse under the impact.

"Shields at thirty percent," Greez says through his teeth. "We can't take another hit from that thing!"

A streak of lightning strikes the Inquisitor from behind, staggering her. The _Mantis _slips a bit further out into space.

"Holy hell," Greez breathes.

Further into the loading bay, Cere Junda rises on unsteady legs, bent double over the hole in her abdomen. Lurching toward the Inquisitor, her mouth opens in a terrible scream, her face a mask of unbridled rage. Bolts of jagged lightning fly in a torrent toward the Inquisitor, bringing the woman to her knees.

The force holding the _Mantis _in place finally relinquishes its hold. Anna presses herself to the wall as the ship rockets backward. In the few short seconds the loading bay remains in view, she sees the Inquisitor whirl on Cere. She sees a single crystal spear shoot from the floor, impaling the former Jedi through the neck with a burst of red.

Then Greez yanks on the stick, and all she can see is the red giant star far, far below them.

* * *

**Updates may be more sporadic from here on out. I'm back to being a full-time student, and vector calculus is hard.**


	18. The Survivors

**The Survivors**

The hull groans and shudders like a freight train. She doesn't know what exactly the top fin does for the ship, but missing half of it clearly isn't doing any favours for the _Mantis's _hyperspace performance. The rattling wasn't nearly this bad even through the Arendelle hyperlane. Greez and BD-1 shoot frantic messages at each other every once in a while from across the dashboard—though Anna's pretty sure Greez understands binary about as well as she does, so it's probably a one-sided conversation.

As hard as she tries, she can't keep her eyes from drifting toward the empty seat at the comm terminal. She tries to focus her gaze on Cal, instead. The side of his head pokes up over the top of the copilot's seat, a mop of loose hair draped carelessly over his face in ash-stained maroon. He's staring motionlessly out the window, not so much as blinking. She watches a single tear roll down his cheek, glistening in the swirling blue backdrop of hyperspace.

He hasn't spoken since they escaped the dungeon ship.

Cere Junda seemed like the toughest, most jaded person in the whole galaxy. The woman seemed like a brick wall—a wall marked with the scars of the history she kept locked behind it. Anna felt like she barely scratched the surface of that wall, yet in the end, Cere trusted _her_ to bear the burden of the future. For all their bickering and disagreements, in the end Cere sacrificed herself so Anna could live.

She looks down at the lightsaber in her lap, the one that belonged to the Inquisitor that was Cere's Padawan. Somehow, it survived the punishment from both the Inquisitor and the Purge Trooper relatively unscathed. A small victory.

A meaningless victory.

They failed. They walked right into that Inquisitor's trap. They couldn't save Merrin and now Cere is dead.

Her fingers curl into fists. How many more will die? Is this her fate? To have those around her cut down by the enemy, one by one, until she's alone for good?

The lightsaber feels heavy, and she feels cold.

When Cal finally speaks, the words are so quiet they're almost drowned out by the hum of the hyperdrive.

"She shouldn't have died. She didn't have to die."

Greez lets out a low sigh.

"Don't say that, Cal," he says softly. "Don't do that to yourself."

"But it's true, isn't it?" Cal's words are clipped, jagged. "I could have held them off. I could have been the distraction while you escaped. Cere would still be alive."

"And you'd be dead," Anna says quietly. She rises from the bench and walks up the cockpit until she's standing next to Cal at the dashboard, putting her hands down in front of him. "This isn't your fault, Cal. If anything, it's mine for letting the Inquisitor ambush me."

"That wasn't a choice, Anna." The tears are flowing freely now, running in rivulets from Cal's eyes, but his expression is slack, shell-shocked. He continues staring forward, not meeting her gaze. "I made a _choice_ back there. I _chose _to abandon Cere."

"That's not fair, Cal," Greez interjects. "It was life or death. If you'd rushed out there instead of coming on board you'd have both died, and then where'd we be? It's no use dwelling on _what-ifs_. Nothing can change the past."

"How can you be so calm?" There's a sudden fire in Cal's eyes as he whirls on the captain. "You knew Cere longer than I did! Don't you get it? She's _dead_, Greez!"

"You think I don't know that?" Greez barks, so sharply that Anna can't help but flinch. The captain glares at Cal for a long moment, chest heaving. Slowly, he raises a finger. "I was gambling my life away before Cere came along. Cere made a _somebody_ out of my nobody. She's the closest anyone's gotten to being family in a long time." He takes a long breath before continuing in a calmer voice. "But I outgrew denial decades ago, kid. It's a cruel fucking galaxy out there. The last enemy you need is yourself."

Cal doesn't respond. BD-1 trills a low note, hopping as close as he can to Cal while still being plugged into the dashboard through his other leg and laying his head on the Jedi's shoulder. Cal's lip quivers.

"I should have known this was a trap," he finally chokes out, staring into his lap. "We never should have come. This… this is all on me."

Anna feels her throat constrict at the ragged sorrow in Cal's voice. The urge to wrap him in a hug is overwhelming, but something tells her to hold back. This isn't the kind of grief a hug can fix.

Eventually Cal's breathing calms.

"What do we do now?" he whispers.

Anna's heart breaks a little at the note of defeat in his voice. That's supposed to be her line. He's supposed to be the one with the answers.

"We'll finish what they damn well started, is what we'll do." Greez's tone is hard as stone. "And that starts with fixing my ship."

"Where can we even go?" Anna asks, her heart sinking as she glances back toward the holomap. "The Empire's probably got every hyperlane from Corsun locked down across half the galaxy."

"I know some routes that are off the grid." Greez gives a mirthless chuckle. "This ain't our first rodeo."

"Maybe it's time to ditch the ship," Cal says quietly. "Find something the Empire hasn't seen us flying yet."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," Greez growls. "I ain't ditching my baby. There's thousands of other S-161's flying around. A new paint job and the Imps'll be none the wiser."

"Thousands is tiny in a galaxy this size. It's not worth the risk."

"I ain't negotiating this, kid."

Cal glares at the side of the captain's head.

"You still haven't answered my question," Anna presses. "Where are we headed?"

Greez combs a stiff hand through his beard, his eyes still focused out the front window.

"It's too soon to go back to Nal Hutta, they'll be expecting us there. I've set a course for Tatooine."

"Tatooine?" Anna frowns. "Where's that?"

"The middle of nowhere. Exactly where we need to be." Exhaling slowly, Greez makes a small gesture toward the comms station. "You should grab some seat. This'll be awhile."

It takes Anna a moment to realize Greez is talking about _that _seat. Carefully, hesitantly, she approaches the comm terminal. The leather of the cushions is hard and well worn as she eases herself in. It feels like a stolen jacket. Staring at the text scrolling up on the terminal, she lets out a small breath and closes her eyes.

This isn't how she wanted to get a seat in the cockpit.

* * *

_The girl's pale fingers work delicately in the air, adding to the thin piece of ice sitting atop the mahogany desktop in bursts of clear crystal that emit faint wisps of steam in the morning light._

"_Elsa, when will I get to do the magic?"_

"_I don't know, Anna." The girl—her sister—keeps her eyes focused on the sculpture, her brow knitted in concentration._

"_Mama says it'll be soon—she says she can feel it," Anna mutters. She gasps as an excellent new question comes to mind. "What does it feel like to use your powers?"_

_Elsa lowers her hands and steps back, tilting her head to inspect her handiwork. A gleaming statuette of sits on the table between them, barely larger than her hand. A dragon. She pushes it across the desk toward Anna._

"_Do you like it?"_

_Anna takes the sculpture in her hands. The dragon's transparent wings are spread wide as if in flight, its body detailed down to every individual tooth and scale. She hugs it to her cheek, ignoring how cold the ice is on her skin._

"_I love it! It's just like from Papa's stories!"_

_She holds the dragon in front of her, moving it through the air and imagining it roaring and breathing curtains of fire like in the bedtime stories Papa likes to tell. She tries to imitate the roaring noises that Papa does, and Elsa giggles._

"_Do you think we'll ever get to see dragons?" Anna asks excitedly, her eyes going wide as moons._

"_I don't think we have any dragons on Arendelle," Elsa replies thoughtfully. "I read about beasts on other worlds that look like dragons, but they're far, far away."_

"_That's disappointing."_

"_Disappointing" is a long word. She's proud she managed to say it without stumbling. Elsa's always using long word. She turns the figurine over in her hands, holding it close to her eye._

"_Careful, it'll melt," Elsa whispers._

_Anna quickly puts it back down on the desk. The places where her hands touched the statue are glossy with water, and she feels a pang of guilt._

_Then she realizes Elsa still hasn't answered her question._

"_So?" She leans toward her sister with her elbows on the table, supporting her face with her hands on her cheeks. "What does it feel like, when you make the ice?"_

_Elsa clasps her hands at her waist._

"_It's hard to explain." Her sister opens her hands again, blue eyes staring intensely from beneath her platinum bangs. A diamond-shaped crystal of ice grows in her palm as Anna watches, mesmerized. "It feels like… breathing," she continues, placing the piece of ice beside the dragon, "after having your head underwater for a long time."_

_Immediately, Anna sucks a breath and holds it in. Elsa holds a hand to her mouth to stifle another giggle as Anna puffs out her cheeks._

"_I don't think that's how it works, Anna."_

Just you wait! _she wants to say, but that would require opening her mouth, so she only manages, "mm mm mmph!"_

_It's not long before her lungs are screaming for air. She can feel her face turning red. Elsa's laughter fades as her expression turns to one of concern._

"_Okay, you can stop now."_

_But Anna's too determined to stop. Dark spots float in her vision. Finally, the pressure is too much. She gasps, dropping forward onto the desk and desperately sucking in air._

_Slowly, her heartbeat settles. Apart from the burning in her lungs, she doesn't feel anything out of the ordinary._

"_Anna, look out!"_

_In slow motion, Anna watches the dragon statuette teeter off the edge of the tabletop, tumbling end over end before shattering on the hardwood planks of the floor. A searing stab of panic pierces her heart, instantly overtaken by a wave of guilt._

"_Elsa… I'm sorry," she stammers. "You worked so hard on that." She wants to cry._

_But when she musters the courage to glance back up, Elsa isn't looking at her anymore._

"_Anna… Anna, look."_

_Confused, she follows her sister's gaze to the fireplace on the wall behind her—the fireplace that she watched Elsa douse only minutes before, now flickering with living flames._

* * *

She wakes with her chin pressed to her collarbone and a crick in her neck. Bright sunlight colours the insides of her eyelids pink. Everything aches.

She must have slept through the landing again.

She cracks her eyes open and immediately regrets it. The cockpit slowly comes into focus out of a sea of blinding white. There's a soft brushing sound almost like rain as something washes against the outside of the ship, stirred up by strong winds. Squinting, she directs her gaze out the window. Beyond the dust, twin suns scorch down above rolling dunes of yellow sand. She's never seen so much sand in her life.

She sighs. Hunkering down in a tropical paradise was obviously too much to ask.

Pieces of the dream echo through her mind. She frowns at the memory of the fireplace. Did she really…

Another memory hits her like a train, one of fire pouring from her hands like water from an open tap. What the hell _was _that back on the dungeon ship? She looks down at her hands.

Why hasn't she been able to do that before? Is that part of her still repressed, somehow, a side-effect of what her mother did to her before… sending her away?

She needs to talk to Cal.

She rolls her neck to a chorus of popping vertebrae. Pushing her grimy hair out of her eyes, she glances around the cockpit and finds it empty. The displays are dark, and judging by the silence, the engines are off. Frowning, she stands and makes her way into the lobby.

"Greez? Cal?" _Cere_, she almost calls out of habit, but she stops herself.

The lobby is also empty. The exit door is closed, but according to the indicator lamp above the doorframe, the ramp is extended. She presses the button to open the doors and is blasted by a wave of heat and grit. Sand is already accumulating on the ramp outside. Fading footprints lead away into the yellow sea, toward a group of squat stone buildings poking above a valley between two dunes in the distance.

"Greez went to scout out the town," a rasping voice says from behind her. "He said to keep the door closed to keep the sand out."

She turns. Cal stands by the hallway toward the engine room, his empty gaze directed at something on the floor. Sealing the doors with a press of the button, Anna takes two steps toward him.

"How… how are you?" she ventures.

Cal raises his eyes. His hair is more unkempt than she's ever seen, draping in greasy locks over the right side of his face, but he doesn't seem to notice. The shadows under his eyes make him look positively haggard.

"I've been better." He sighs. "I'll be better. Soon."

A crease forms between Anna's eyebrows.

"Cal, you don't have to shoulder this alone," she says gently.

Cal's lips curl into something more of a grimace than a smile. "I'll be fine, Anna. Just… just give me time."

There are no tears this time, but the dry pain in Cal's eyes is somehow more haunting. Damn it all. Anna closes the distance and wraps her arms around him, crushing him to her in the tightest hug she can manage. He tenses for an instant, his breath hitching ever so slightly. Then he's melting into her arms, his stiff posture deflating like a balloon.

"Thank you," he whispers, barely audible. Warm tears soak into the shoulder of her tunic.

"I owe you at least one use as a tissue box," Anna laughs softly, trying to keep down tears of her own.

"Yeah, I guess you do," Cal sniffles.

It's a while before they pull away.

"There is no emotion, there is peace," Cal mumbles. "Some Jedi I am, huh?" He shakes his head bitterly.

"Are Jedi not allowed to grieve?" Anna's eyes angle upward.

"We're not supposed to mourn," Cal says with another sniff, roughly wiping away tears with the palm of his hand. "The Force is within all living things. Those who die become one with the Force, at peace forever. At least, that's what they told me. Haven't died yet—wouldn't know." He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a cough.

"That's a nice thought." Anna wonders if parents are there, one with the Force, at peace. And her sister…

The Temple of Ice rises in her mind's eye.

_This is where your sister found her element, when she was not much younger than you are now._

She remembers the cold gust when her sister raised her hands in the ballroom, moments before the bombs dropped. She sees her sister's hands sculpt a figurine of a dragon out of crystalline ice. Ice… _ice _was her sister's element.

She sees the gleaming spears of ice leap up from the floor before the Inquisitor's outstretched hand. She staggers backward as the realization hits her.

"Anna? What's the matter?"

She lets herself fall onto the lounge couch. Cal rushes forward, his lips curling into a frown. "Anna, talk to me."

Anna nods dumbly.

"I still don't remember much of my life on Arendelle," she starts in a quiet voice, looking down into her lap. "I guess that makes sense—I was only five when the Empire came. Ever since I got my memories back, though, I've been getting these dreams." She swallows. "Every Arendellian is connected to some aspect of the elements of nature. I was looking for mine, before my mother took away my memories. But my sister, she'd always known hers, from as early as I can remember." She looks straight into Cal's eyes. "I remember now. My sister's element was ice."

Cal goes completely still.

"Anna… do you think…" His voice trails off. The unspoken words hanging in the air send another pulse of cold terror through Anna's body.

"You said it yourself, didn't you?" she murmurs. "You've never seen powers like that Inquisitor's before. Well, I have."

Cal is silent for a long time.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "I'm sorry, but I don't have answers for you. I couldn't sense anything but darkness from that woman. So much grief and hate and… hunger."

There's a hard edge to his voice—an edge that tells Anna there will be no mercy for the Inquisitor that took the life of Cere Junda, sister or not. She suppresses a shudder.

Is that what it will come down to? Could she let Cal kill Elsa? Anna tries to brush the thought from her mind, but it refuses to be dislodged.

"Cal, how do people become Inquisitors?" she asks slowly. Cal draws in a breath, his expression becoming pained.

"All Force-sensitives captured by the Empire are either executed or put into the Inquisitorius program. Some are willing. They feel the call of the Dark Side, and Vader trains them to use it. The others…" He winces. "The others are tortured until they break."

She knows he's thinking about Merrin imprisoned on that ship, being carried off to suffer exactly that fate. For the first time, she hopes against hope that her sister died on Arendelle.

Elsa could manipulate ice, yes, but surely she couldn't have been the only one. The Inquisitor could be anyone. There's no telling what's behind that mask.

"There's something else," Anna finds herself saying, loudly enough to distract them both from their thoughts. "Something happened when I faced the Inquisitor last time. I felt something different in the Force. I panicked and _fire _came out of my hands." She raises her hands in front of her, palms up, still half-expecting to see third-degree burns on the skin.

Cal's eyebrows raise slightly.

"Force fire is not a common ability among Jedi. I've certainly never heard of a Padawan learning it." The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. "Then again, you're no ordinary Padawan."

"I had a dream before we landed. Another memory. I lit a fireplace without touching it. I think fire is my affinity, like ice was for Elsa." She's careful not to let her voice hitch on her sister's name. "I guess that Arendellian blood is still doing its thing."

She doesn't realize she's still holding her hands out until Cal takes them in his own—one gloved, one bare.

"Anna, listen to me." His eyes are suddenly sharp as steel. "There was a time when I was ready to train an entire new generation of Jedi. That ship has flown, but I can still train one. I _will_ train you, Anna. I'll teach you every damn thing I know about being a Jedi. No more distractions. It's time I was a proper Master to you."

Anna's eyes widen.

"But Merrin-"

Cal's grip tightens until it's painful.

"Merrin is gone." She can feel the pain radiating off of him as he bites off each word, but his gaze doesn't waver. "I will train you. Here, on Tatooine. When you're ready, we'll go to Ilum and get you a lightsaber crystal. It's not the traditional order of things, but it's the safest way."

"And then?"

There is fire in Cal's eyes, a resolve that carries the momentum of a falling star and has Anna's heart beating like a drum.

"We finish Cere's plan. We burn the Fortress Inquisitorius to the ground."


	19. The Past is in the Past

**The Past is in the Past**

To her disappointment, there is no lightsaber to take from Cere Junda. The woman's belongings are laid out on the table: a pistol, a rosary with the Jedi crest, and a broken comm link, crushed like so much tinfoil. She picks up the comm link without touching it, willing it to float into the air as she scrutinizes it from every angle. Her teeth grit in displeasure. Cere must have destroyed it to stop her from using it to trace the ship. Defiant until the end.

She lets go of the device and watches it clatter back to the counter.

"What do we do with the body, ma'am?"

An officer stands stiffly at the door to the medical bay, failing to hide his discomfort as he eyes the corpse on the operating table behind her. The Jedi's sightless eyes stare up at the brightly-lit ceiling, black, coagulated blood staining the skin around her mouth and splattering her tunic near the gaping hole in her throat. Nothing flows from the wound anymore—what blood remains in the body is frozen solid in the veins.

She's made sure the sheets beneath the corpse remain spotless. As much as she hates to admit it, she doesn't like the sight of blood. There's something viscerally sickening about the way it wells and spurts and drips. She's careful to never let a drop of it touch her uniform. She's glad for the mask this time, for the barrier it provides from the metallic stench.

"Freeze it in carbonite and see that it is delivered to the Fortress Inquisitorius," she intones without turning.

"And what are your orders for the men?"

What orders, indeed. She's tempted to order the shuttle out to scour the surrounding hyperlanes, but she reins in her frustration. That would be a futile pursuit. The _Stinger Mantis _could have jumped to any of a dozen systems by now.

"Have local squadrons been notified of the situation?"

"Yes, ma'am. We profiled the ship as a Latero Jumpworks S-161. Any sighted ships of that make and model will be intercepted and subjected to a thorough inspection."

She knows none of the sightings will be them. She's failed again. She suppresses the urge to clench her fists as she stares down at the operating table, finding a cold modicum of solace at the sight of the dead Jedi.

Not all of them escaped this time.

"Focus on completing the repairs to the hull breach so we may be on our way as soon as possible." Her smooth tone betrays none of her inner turmoil. "That will be all, Commander."

The officer salutes and exits the chamber. She follows him out, snatching a dose of bacta spray from the wall locker before turning and walking down the corridor in the opposite direction. As soon as the officer is out of sight, she allows herself a quiet hiss from the pain of the burns covering the right half of her upper body. Hobbling her way to the elevator doors, she breathes a small sigh of relief when the platform arrives empty.

Pressing the button for the top level, she closes her eyes and focuses on calming her breathing as she collapses onto the elevator wall. Her quarters are near the bridge, and it's a slow elevator. She has time to breathe.

She never expected a Jedi to use Dark Side abilities. Cere Junda retaliating with Force lightning was a surprise—a surprise that cost her dearly. She was overconfident. Sloppy. She left the Jedi to succumb to her wounds instead of making sure she was dead right then and there, and it allowed the rest of the traitors to escape.

She will not make that mistake again.

The door slides open with a low hiss. She pushes herself off the wall, forcing herself to take smooth and measured steps through the haze of ragged pain. Sweat fogs her visor, matting her hair, making her bangs stick to her forehead. She focuses on the sensation. The irritation is a welcome distraction.

Pain is something she's well accustomed to coping with.

There's nobody but a chrome astromech droid between her and the door to her room. Not bothering with the code cylinder, she forces the door open with a flick of her wrist, pulling it shut behind her the instant she's through. The instant the door is closed, she rips the mask from her face, letting it fall with a low thud as she hits the floor beside it on her hands and knees. The pinprick needles from the Force lightning subsided quickly, but the searing heat of the burns only seems to have intensified since the fight.

She casts aside her gloves, steps out of her boots, undoes her belt. Slowly, carefully, she peels off her tattered uniform, taking care not to let the burnt fabric rub against the weeping red welts seared in patchwork from her navel to her shoulder.

Her hands are trembling.

The pain is nothing she can't handle. Her eyes run along the raised flesh of the other scars marring her abdomen—scars from where a plasma blade grazed her skin time and time again, purposeful and terribly, terribly slow. She didn't cry out then. To scream would have been to admit weakness. The others had screamed, and Vader had taken their limbs as punishment. She never did, and she felt his silent approval.

Vader did more than enough to ensure no pain she experienced in battle would hold a candle to that which she has already endured.

Her hands tremble for a different reason.

She sees it again, the expression of panic on the girl's face, the angry flames pouring from her palms. In her years of hunting, she never met anyone who wielded Force fire. What's more, this girl matches no Jedi or Padawan in the Imperial records—she's checked and rechecked. She closes her eyes, but the scene refuses to leave her mind.

She would have relished that expression of abject terror on any other traitor. Not on this girl. Her hands close into fists, crackling as frost crusts over her fingers. The red hair, the blue eyes, the freckled cheeks—they're too familiar, too much like _her_. The sister she couldn't save. The reason why she cannot rest until the Jedi are hunted into extinction.

It's been thirteen years since Anna lit the fireplace in the library, but she remembers it like it happened yesterday. She remembers the way her little sister's face glowed with excitement, how tightly Anna hugged her while babbling about all the heroes of legend who she would grow up to be just like.

The Jedi attacked two days later, and Anna never got to grow up at all.

Her memories of the war are faint and distant. Screaming, explosions, so much baster fire. Guards running out of the castle, fewer returning. A losing battle of attrition.

When she got separated from her father, she went to the only place she knew to hide. Her room collapsed around her in a suffocating torrent of rubble. Then came Vader, pulling her from the dust.

Another pulse of pain brings her back to the present. Pushing herself wearily to her feet, she picks up the bacta canister where she dropped it on the floor, gingerly administering the soothing spray across the largest of the burns. Looking over the rest of her wounds, she lets the pain direct a wash of cold over her skin, sealing the burns under poultices of ice. There will be scarring, but they'll heal soon enough.

She has work to do in the mean time.

She dresses quickly, pulling a fresh uniform from the narrow wardrobe and stuffing the damaged one unceremoniously into a corner. Picking the mask off the floor, she holds it up to the light, inspecting the swath where the heat from the girl's flames discoloured the metal in chaotic patterns of purple. It almost looks better this way.

Cal Kestis and the girl may have escaped, but there is still one former member of the _Mantis's _crew aboard this dungeon ship who is very much alive and available for interrogation.

She slips the mask back over her face.

* * *

When she arrives in the holding cell, the Nightsister's eyes are closed. The haphazard hole the girl cut in the door gives a window into the room— evidently, there are still holes of higher priority to the repair team elsewhere. She ducks through into the room, stopping at the base of the raised platform. The prisoner looks almost relaxed in her spread-eagle position attached to the walls and ceiling. Faint indicators flicker along the tubes connected to her breather, in sync with the soft sounds of working pumps somewhere deep in the walls.

The Nightsister's eyes snap open, deep red irises raking over her with the intensity of a Krait dragon's claws. Hatred radiates off of the woman like heat off of a furnace, already rivalling that of Cere Junda in her final moments. Clearly, the Nightsisters don't share the same qualms about passion as the Jedi.

"Nightsister Merrin."

"Inquisitor," Merrin spits. "Come to gloat?"

"Come to talk." She keeps her tone polite, impassive. "You once served aboard the _Stinger Mantis_, if I'm not mistaken."

"You couldn't capture him, could you?" She can hear the sneer in Merrin's tone even through the breather.

"No. Unfortunately, a certain Cere Junda decided to play the hero one last time." She pauses to let the words sink in. The Nightsister bucks against her restraints.

"You bitch." The words drip like venom. The heat rises until it's almost palpable.

She strides forward until she's level with the prisoner. "What was Cal Kestis searching for in the Legacy Databank?"

The Nightsister barks a spiteful laugh.

"I'll never tell you anything."

Metal groans as vines of frost creep down from the ceiling. The Nightsister hisses as gelid metal brands her skin.

"Don't be short with me, Merrin."

Crimson eyes glare back defiantly.

"You must be stupider than even that mask makes you look. I have not seen Cal Kestis in five months. How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Careful, Merrin." Her voice echoes metallic through the mask's modulator. She takes another step closer. "It's in your best interest to remain an asset to me."

The Nightsister cocks her head. The heat subsides slightly.

"You are different from the others." There is no anger in the prisoner's voice this time, only detached curiosity. "You carry an aura of magick. I can feel it." Her eyes narrow. "But you are no Dathomirian. What are you?"

That gives her pause. When she answers, her voice is soft and cold.

"I am the last of my kind. The Jedi slaughtered the rest."

For a long moment, they regard each other in silence. What the Nightsister says next, she does not expect.

"That's what I thought, too."

She freezes for an instant. Sensing her hesitation, the Nightsister presses on.

"I am the last Nightsister of Dathomir. When I was a child, I watched my sisters slaughtered by a warrior brandishing lightsabers. A Jedi, I thought. I was wrong." The heat dies out completely as Merrin lowers her gaze. "When Cal Kestis came to Dathomir, I was determined to kill him. I let hate blind me from the truth. The Darkness tastes sweet, but it cannot be trusted. The Darkness tells you what you want to hear. Cal Kestis showed me the way is not so black and white."

Her mouth twists beneath the mask.

"You are the one who's been blinded. Hatred is strength. Strength is the only law." The words ring like the mantra they are. Her gloved hands clench with a faint squeak of rubber. "The Jedi killed our people because they are weak. They saw our strength and feared it would challenge their rule."

"Do you really believe that?" Where there was once malice in the Nightsister's voice, there is now a gentle pity. The woman's body sags limply in the restraints. "Have you ever spoken to a Jedi? Really _listened_ before you murdered them? The Jedi did not kill our people, Inquisitor. The Jedi do not condone genocide." Merrin raises her eyes, and a hint of the old steel returns. "We have both seen the evil at the heart of this empire. These people will burn a village to the ground to make sure a single Force-sensitive child doesn't escape. Is that not evidence of their fear? Is that not exactly the weakness you speak of?"

She can feel the warmth drain from the air to fuel the fire of her own rage. Delicate veins of frost crawl over the surface of her mask.

"Enough! The Jedi are a plague. A pestilence to be eradicated! A pity you let Cal Kestis poison your mind with his lies." She takes a deep, calming breath. When she speaks again, her tone is detached. "Cal Kestis is looking for information about my people. Why?"

Confusion flits over the Nightsister's features.

"What? Cal is looking for…" Merrin's eyes widen slowly. There's a flash of revelation. "The girl."

The words slip through the breather in a whisper, washing over her like a wave.

"What?" Her hands unclench.

"The girl who cut that hole in the door. She was like you. I felt the same magick." The Nightsister's gaze burns with sudden intensity. "She was no Dathomirian, either."

Bit by bit, the ice coating the prisoner's restraints retreats. The girl's face flashes in her mind's eye. She sees the blast of fire, searingly bright. Those sea-green irises burn into her, hauntingly familiar. Is there recognition behind the fear? Is there accusation?

She screws her eyes shut behind the mask, banishing the spectre. No. The girl can't be her sister.

That's impossible.

"You felt it too, didn't you." The Nightsister says softly. It doesn't sound like a question.

There's something stirring inside, like a python uncoiling in her stomach. She feels off balance.

For thirteen years, she's believed she's the last Arendellian. If there's even the tiniest fraction of a chance that she isn't…

She whirls back toward the doorway in a flutter of capes, flinging the doors open with the momentum of the storm inside her. The sound of her boots on the floor pulse in her ears like someone else's footsteps. She can still feel the weight of the Nightsister's gaze on the nape of her neck.

The hallway back to the elevator is longer than she remembers. She tries to ignore the tremors in her hands as the platform carries her back up to her quarters.

She needs to make a call.

The holotable in her room is small, obviously retrofitted from ancient Mandalorian tech like so much of the rest of the ship. She locks the door behind her before making her way to the comm station. Unsealing the mask, she sets it down beside the holoprojector as she enters the transmission frequency with her other hand.

At first, there's nothing but grains of static. Then, a pale Pau'an face, marked with long vertical grooves from forehead to chin. It isn't the black, angular mask she expected.

"Twelve. I just received the Commander's report," the Grand Inquisitor states. "Good work eliminating Cere Junda."

"Grand Inquisitor," she greets with a terse nod. "I was hoping to contact Lord Vader."

"Lord Vader is occupied off-world at the moment. State your business, Twelve."

She takes a deep breath.

"I require access to a Legacy Databank for my investigation into Cal Kestis."

Most would have missed the way the Pau'an's lips twitch in a light grimace. She does not.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. The Legacy Databanks are not a resource available to members of the Inquisitorius."

The Grand Inquisitor's words are cool and even, but her eyes narrow. He sounds too much like that insufferable Admiral Weselton.

"Cal Kestis found and infiltrated a Legacy Databank in search for _something_," she says, clenching her teeth. "I need that data."

The Grand Inquisitor shakes his head, his glowing eyes piercing through the static of the projection.

"Your task is to neutralize Cal Kestis and his crew. Outside of the hunt, his motivations and goals are not your concern."

"Grand Inquisitor, how am I meant to gain the upper hand over this Jedi if he possesses _Imperial_ assets that I have no access to?" An edge slips into her voice. She can feel the storm swirling within, begging for release.

A shadow passes over the Grand Inquisitor's gaunt features.

"Watch your tone, Twelve. We are soldiers. We don't make excuses, we make do. You've already proven yourself capable. Finish the job. Don't give Lord Vader reason to doubt you now."

Ice crawls at her fingers beneath the gloves, but for once she forces it back.

"I… Understood, Grand Inquisitor." She manages to keep her voice steady.

The Grand Inquisitor gives a satisfied nod. "Good. Do you have any other business for me?"

A farewell is on the tip of her tongue when the inkling of an idea gives her pause. Slowly, the storm subsides, replaced by a cold clarity that crystalizes into a plan. A very dangerous plan. She licks her lips.

"There is one more thing. Could I have the prisoner Hans Westergaard transferred to this ship from the Star Destroyer _Invictus?_"

The Pau'an raises an eyebrow. The silence stretches for an instant longer than she likes.

"Very well, Twelve," he finally answers, inclining his head. "Glory to the Empire."

"Glory to the Empire," she echoes with a bow. The transmission flickers out, and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding in.

She'll get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

* * *

The shuttle doesn't arrive for three hours.

The shuttle bay is tiny in comparison to the central hangar on a Star Destroyer, with barely enough floor space to dock two shuttles. The shuttle that serves as transport for the Purge Troopers sits off to the right, wings folded neatly in landing configuration. She prefers to fly her own TIE Interceptor whenever possible, but this time she's glad she took the shuttle. She'll need it for what comes next.

At some point the Captain comes to join her on the flight deck—an older woman with hard, emotionless eyes and greying curls.

"Inquisitor, ma'am." The woman gives her a crisp salute. "The repairs are well underway. We should be ready to jump to hyperspeed within the hour."

"Captain Serka. Any word on the shuttle carrying Westergaard?"

"It departed the _Invictus _not long ago." Serka pauses. "Ma'am, I still don't understand why you insisted on having the prisoner sent all this way. We can rendezvous with the _Invictus _ourselves once the hull breach is sealed."

"This is a very time-sensitive matter, Captain." She holds the other woman's gaze through her visor. Something is nagging at her—an inexplicable feeling that if she doesn't hurry, the answers will be out of reach for good. She knows doesn't have the luxury of time. She can feel it in her bones.

Serka's brow furrows slightly. For a moment, it seems like she's ready to push the matter further, but she simply shrugs.

"Fine, it's your show. You know where to find me if you need anything."

She follows the Captain's progress back across the hangar until the woman is swallowed once more by the elevator. Turning back toward the still-closed doors of the shuttle bay entrance, she clasps her hands in front of her out of habit. On a whim, she closes her eyes and reaches outward with her awareness, past the confines of the hangar, through the durasteel shell of the dungeon ship into the aching emptiness of the void beyond.

Vader never taught her to use the Force for anything other than killing, but she hasn't forgotten her father's lessons. She continues to reach past Corsun's blazing core, her perception spread so thin that her own body feels tiny and distant, a single leaf in a vast, empty forest.

Nobody in the Empire knows the name Ahtohallan. The River of Truth, Papa called it; a bridge between the elements, but also a conduit for the strength and wisdom of all the past rulers of Arendelle. She hasn't reached for it for a long time—not since she was a child curled up in the corner of a bare cell in the Fortress Inquisitorius, lonely and afraid. She felt it then, a presence just outside her reach, as languid and ancient as the auroras of home. It gave her the strength she needed to survive. As hard as she tried, however, it never soothed her worries, never responded to her questions. Ahtohallan never answered her.

This time is no different.

She sighs, opening her eyes. A low boom reverberates across the chamber as the hangar bay door cracks open before her, revealing the triangular silhouette of a T-4a shuttle backlit by Corsun's blazing horizon. The wind from its landing thrusters washes over her in a wave of heat, throwing the capes of her uniform out behind her and tossing her braid to the side. She watches as the shuttle approaches through the rectangular gap, its long wings folding up into landing configuration. Its gear legs meet the floor with the soft squeak of hydraulic dampers.

The exit ramp slides open with a gust of white vapour, and she straightens up, unclasping her hands. Two Purge Troopers with electrostaffs strapped across their backs emerge from the smoke, frog-marching a familiar man between them, his hands bound behind his back with stun cuffs. The men greet her with curt nods before forcing the prisoner to his knees at her feet.

Hans Westergaard tilts his head upward to meet her gaze, blowing a tuft of hair out of his eyes through the light hangar breeze. He laughs.

"Missed me already, Inquisitor?"

She ignores him.

"_What are our orders, Twelfth Sister?"_ one of the troopers intones.

"You are dismissed," she answers with a gesture over her shoulder. "Return to your posts aboard the _Invictus_."

"_Understood."_

The troopers turn heel in unison. One of them makes a rotating gesture toward the cockpit, and the scream of the shuttle's engines rises again. The ramp lifts up until it's flush with the hull. Her gaze follows the ship as it floats back out the hangar entrance and unfolds its wings, hull spinning slowly to face away from her before the main boosters ignite in a flash of white. Only after the hangar door slides fully closed does she turn her attention back to the man at her feet.

"Mister Westergaard, I need you to tell me the location of the nearest Legacy Databank."

The corner of the man's mouth twitches upward.


	20. Cold Secrets Deep Inside

**Cold Secrets Deep Inside**

"_My Lord, there has been a development."_

"_My time is valuable, Inquisitor. Report."_

"_It's Twelve. She has taken an interest in the Legacy Databanks. She claims they contain essential information for her hunt for Cal Kestis. I denied her request for access."_

"_I have sensed a disturbance. The girl who fights with Cal Kestis is more than she appears to be. Operation Dark Sea was not as thorough as I initially thought."_

"_My Lord… is it possible Twelve has uncovered the truth?"_

"_Not yet. That is how it must remain. A team will be dispatched immediately to purge the records."_

"_What of Cal Kestis and his remaining allies?"_

"_Twelve dealt with Cere Junda. She will finish the mission."_

"_And if she doesn't, my Lord?"_

"_Leave that to me."_

* * *

Her fingers curl around the unfamiliar handles of the shuttle's control column as she gives the dashboard a final cursory glance. Fuel and oxygen gauges, controls for adjusting the angle of the wings, a lever to operate the egress ramp, and an array of buttons and dials for calibrating the hyperdrive—all standard instrumentation, but it's been a while since she's flown one of these.

Her gaze drifts toward the man in the copilot's seat.

"This is such awfully long procedure for a simple launch," Hans drawls. "It's a wonder how the Empire manages to get anything done at this rate."

He's strapped into the copilot's seat with his hands in his lap, his wrists still bound together by heavy stun cuffs. A signal damping device not unlike a restraining bolt meant for droids protrudes from the back of his neck, blinking every once in a while in sync with his subtle twitches of pain. Despite all this, his posture looks almost comfortable.

"_Twelfth Sister, you are clear for departure," _the Captain's voice rasps over the intercom.

"Finally!" Hans huffs dramatically.

She eases up on the throttle, keeping her eyes focused on the rectangular opening to the yawning emptiness of space. The shuttle feels large and cumbersome in her hands, sluggish to respond to her guidance. A hum vibrates through the hull as she presses the button to lock the wings in flight mode. Corsun fills the window, a sea of burning plasma dimmed through the cockpit glass.

"The coordinates, please."

Her unwilling companion sighs. "It would be quicker if you let me handle-"

"The coordinates," she repeats curtly. The air in the cabin chills. "Now."

Hans grudgingly begins to list a stream of letters and numbers. Her fingers flit delicately over the hyperdrive controls, the flight computer whirring to life as it begins calculating a route.

"We were five parsecs away from it the whole time," she mutters. The coincidence doesn't surprise her as much as it should. Hans says nothing.

Pushing forward on the throttle, she flips another switch and throws the shuttle into the brilliant abyss of hyperspace.

She doesn't know if the signal damper is enough to stop Hans from committing suicide with his implants. Hans knows this. He gave three demands in exchange for his cooperation.

First, nobody else was to accompany them on this trip. Second, the location tracker on the shuttle was to be disabled. Third, he was to be given five minutes to speak with Nightsister Merrin, alone.

Two of those requests aligned well with her own intentions. The last did not.

"Why do you want to speak with the Nightsister?" she questioned.

"Call it an… unfortunate sense of responsibility. I provided incriminating intel on her, and I would like to apologize, for my conscience's sake."

Not the answer she expected, to say the least. Coming from this man, she would have immediately taken the statement as a joke had he not delivered it with such conviction. As it was, she still didn't believe it for a second, but Hans was adamant, and the urgency of the situation got the better of her in the end.

A small price to pay in exchange for answers.

Now, as the vortex of hyperspace swirls in her vision, she tries to tamp down the same hot urgency still burning in her chest.

"What did you say to the Nightsister?" she asks, keeping her gaze directed straight ahead.

"I confessed that I was the one who gave you the information that led to her being used as bait against the crew of the _Stinger Mantis_. She was understandably upset." She sees him give a small shrug out the corner of her eye—though it might be just another wince of pain.

Perhaps the man does have some twisted sense of conscience after all. She thinks back to her own conversation with Merrin, and the memory of the Nightsister's hateful gaze has her wondering what form of revenge the witch would exact upon Hans Westergaard if she ever escaped. Likely a spectacular one.

Then again, probably not as spectacular as whatever Merrin wanted to do to her.

The vortex splits open before the shuttle's nose, revealing a desolate vista beyond. A brown gas giant bisected by thick, banded rings fills the right half of the windshield. In the distance, a tiny star casts a pale, sterile glow over the scene, making the rest of space seem a deeper shade of black in contrast. Pushing forward on the control column, she pitches the shuttle down toward the planet's rings, eyeing the pulsing signal on the terminal next to hand.

"How can I be sure these coordinates don't lead to some ambush?" The question is halfhearted even in her own ears.

"An ambush?" Hans laughs incredulously. "If this shuttle blows up in the middle of space, I know who I'd bet on out of the two of us to make it out alive, and it's _certainly_ not me."

"You seem keen on self-sacrifice. Who's to say you're planning on making it out at all?"

To her surprise, the amusement suddenly drops from Hans's features. "I have no quarrel with you, Inquisitor. We are both victims of circumstance, in our own ways."

She raises an eyebrow beneath the mask. What does he know that he's not telling her? Even with all her misgivings about the man, she took it for granted that Hans had the knowledge she needed.

When did she start relying on him?

The rings of the gas giant draw closer through the window, gradually resolving into their constituents—a sea of frozen sand drifting below them in the void. A dark blot rises in the distance, poking above the edge of the planet's shadow and glimmering dully in the starlight.

The Legacy Database. The place where her answers lie, imprisoned in a digital cage. Hans brought her to the right place, after all.

A message scrolls across the comms terminal to her left in bold red text.

_Unauthorized approach. Transmit identification codes._

A quick glance at the metadata confirms the message is in an official Imperial cypher. Her mouth draws to a line as she flips the switch to broadcast the shuttle's identification. The Grand Inquisitor denied her request. The station's defenses may well tear the ship to pieces the moment they move within range. Hans says nothing as she guns the throttle, and she hates how that bolsters her own confidence.

This is to help her find Cal Kestis. This is to help her finish the mission. That is all.

* * *

"_Lieutenant, status report, damn it!"_

"_Forward containment wing's lost power, Captain! Surge in the generators."_

"_What about the backups?"_

"_That's the problem. They all surged at the same time. Even the backups."_

"_What? How is that possible!"_

_Silence._

"_Answer me Lieutenant! Was it sabotage?"_

_Heavy breathing, distorted through the comm._

"_I think one of the prisoners escaped, Captain."_

_The shriek of blaster fire. Screams. Static._

* * *

The station does not open fire.

For the first few moments after the shuttle lands, she simply sits there, staring at the walls of the hangar bay through the windshield. The matte-grey durasteel is identical to every other hangar in the Imperial navy, the same hard edges and perfect proportions that silently proclaim a sense of order and inevitability. Most of the time she finds comfort in it, in its promise of the Empire's implacable might over the traitorous Jedi.

Today, it makes her feel caged. Blind.

"Stay here," she commands, unclasping the belts fastening her to the seat and pulling the lever to open the egress ramp.

"And what do you plan to do when you reach the database? Hack into it with an icicle?" Hans scoffs.

She scowls at him through her mask, frustrated that she didn't think that far, frustrated that he's right. With a low sigh, she opens Han's seatbelts with a twitch of her fingers. At least he doesn't indulge himself with a smirk this time. She turns away without a backward glance.

The silence engulfs her as she strides down the ramp. She can hear the soft beep of the signal damper on Hans's neck as he follows slightly behind her.

"A fully automated facility," he says appraisingly. "Almost feels like home."

All she can hear in the space left by the empty silence is the roar of the _Stinger Mantis's _engines as it slipped from her grasp in an identical hangar in an identical facility, half a galaxy away. She was so close. She's always so close with Cal Kestis. Reaching, but never quite _holding_.

That's when she sees the faint scuff marks on the polished floor. The mask's heads-up-display automatically frames the imprints in raised orange lines. A chill runs down her spine. The marks are from landing gear. Another shuttle was here, and recently.

She makes for the door at the back of the hangar as fast as she can without breaking into a full-on sprint. Fishing the code cylinder clipped to her breast pocket, she jams it into the port in the doorframe. A light flashes red on the door control. The door itself doesn't budge.

"Given that whoever's in charge wouldn't even let you know how to _get _to this place, I doubt you'd get clearance within the facility," Hans says mildly.

She's already ignited the blade of her lightsaber by the time he catches up with her.

"Come now, Inquisitor. Are you really so keen to cost the Empire a perfectly good door?" Hans raises his arms with some difficulty, presenting the stun cuffs like a gift. When she only stares back at him motionlessly, he purses his lips in exasperation. "Inquisitor, please. Between your paranatural powers and that blade, I pose about as much of a threat to you as a gonk droid. Let me help you."

For the briefest of moments, she considers jamming the lightsaber through the door control and being done with it. Instead, she swings the blade in an upward arc, severing Hans's bindings with a sharp screech of melting steel. The man rubs his wrists with a sour expression as the cuffs clatter to the floor.

"Couldn't be bothered with the key?"

"Open the door," she orders flatly.

Stepping forward with a huff, Hans jams his index finger into the scomp port beneath the code cylinder receptacle. There's something perverse about the way his hand twitches in the port, the metallic traces along his fingers like the symptoms of some grotesque mechanical infection. The rings of the scomp port rotate this way and that. The door slides open with a whisper.

"After you," Hans says, removing his hand from the port with a light bow.

"How kind," she replies icily.

Walled off from the low hum of the shuttle's engine, the corridor is even more silent than the hangar. Their footfalls peal like thunder, and she finds herself scarcely daring to breathe in the still air. There's a gravity here beyond just the absence of sound, like walking on a layer of thin ice above a dark and sinister sea. She remembers keying in the command for emergency shutdown back on the other station, right before she first confronted Cal Kestis in the flesh. She hadn't known about his intentions with her people then.

It's time she got her answers.

Rounding the corner, she finds the main access terminal taunting her from the end of the hallway. When she reaches it, she can't help but insert her code cylinder on an empty hope. Text flashes in the air above the holoprojector in mocking red.

_Access Denied: Invalid Credentials_

"You know they keep logs of access attempts, right?" Hans says in a tired voice. "Although, I suppose there isn't much the navy can do to discipline an Imperial Inquisitor. Come to think of it, that _would_ explain your blind confidence that things always go your way."

Without waiting for a reply, he walks forward and inserts his finger into the scomp port on the dashboard. The indicators along his implant blink rapidly beneath his mussed hair, and he winces every once in a while when the signal damper on his neck flashes red. After a few moments, he lets out an irritated sigh.

"I can't concentrate with this handicap distracting me," he hisses, turning back to face her. "If you want access to the database, I need it removed."

"You opened the hangar door just fine."

"That door was child's play. Bypassing the security and the encryption on the vault of the Empire's deepest, darkest secrets certainly is not."

The heads-up display on her visor traces the contours of his face, spitting out a dossier of Hans Westergaard's known dealings and associates in a meaningless feed of information in her peripheral vision. She's seen it all before, memorized it before her trip to Cantonica. None of it gives her any insight on his motivations now.

One thing's for sure: he's definitely more dangerous than a gonk droid.

"The signal damper is hard-wired to your cybernetic implants. The machinery required to remove it is back on the dungeon ship." A lie of omission, to test the waters.

"Well then, you really didn't think this through, did you?" Hans leans back and folds his arms over his chest. "You brought me here to hack this terminal, and I can't hack this terminal with this contraption attached to my neck. If you can't remove it, then we might as well go back."

His eyes are hard. He knows he holds the cards.

"Fine." Her tone is cold. "Hold still."

Her thumb slides up the trigger on the lightsaber hilt as she swings it behind Hans's head. The searing blade cuts the device jutting from the man's neck cleanly in half, rendering a tuft of hair to ash in the process. Hans flinches—whether from some final defense mechanism built into the damper or simply from fear, she doesn't know—but by the time he reacts, the blade is already extinguished.

"Better?" she asks with cold politeness.

Shock is slowly replaced by a guarded disdain as Hans straightens back up, carefully flexing his digits as if he doesn't quite believe they all still work.

"When all you have is a hammer…" he mutters under his breath, inserting his finger back into the scomp port and leaning over the terminal. The holoscreen flickers with static before dissolving into a wall of incomprehensible glyphs. "Now, what exactly am I looking for?" he asks with a sigh.

"Whatever Cal Kestis found. Whatever there is about the Arendellian people."

Hans doesn't give any sign of acknowledgement, but the text on the screen starts streaming faster. She watches the column of gibberish with a rising sense of trepidation that she can't quite pin down.

Why the Crocus? Why does Cal Kestis care?

"And… all yours, Inquisitor."

Hans steps back, beckoning to the holoscreen with a grin that belies a little too much satisfaction. The symbols on screen are now arranged into blocks of text, like entries in the galaxy's longest news broadcast.

As she steps forward and places her hands on the keypad, she resolves to figure out slicing for herself so she never has to rely on someone like Hans Westergaard ever again.

The documents seem to be sorted by timestamp. The first entries are political accounts of the official crests and symbols used by the rulers of Arendelle, followed by dated descriptions of the planet itself. Sparse, century-old descriptions of the customs and history of the Arendellian people flit across her gaze, clearly written from the coarse and callous perspective of an outsider. The Arendellians are described as almost indistinguishable from humans as a species, without a single mention of elemental abilities or Force sensitivity.

She frowns to herself, sifting through vague half-remembered instances of when she asked her father about the people beyond the sky. Evidently, the Galactic Republic reciprocated in their knack of knowledge about the little resource-poor planet named Arendelle, too remote and too primitive to be of interest or concern. The timestamps trickle forward, making a path toward the present in leaps and bounds without any increase in detail. Her eyes narrow as she clicks through the pages, faster and faster, a dull sense of foreboding pitting heavier in her stomach with every new document.

The tone of the next document is different. It's an entry from the Jedi Archives from fourteen years ago.

_Master Idias returns from the Unknown Regions bearing news most exciting. By her account, the Arendellian people are a culture intimately entwined with the living Force, so much so that every member of their society is able to harness the Force. They must have centuries of study and knowledge, insights into aspects of the Force that even the Grand Master has yet to touch upon! This could be the discovery of an era._

_The Council has determined Master Ino Cordova will lead an embassy to meet the Arendellian royal family on behalf of the Jedi Order. The embassy will depart immediately after Master Cordova returns from his present research expedition._

The next entries pepper the timeline in a dense cloud: a map of prospective hyperlanes to reach Arendelle from Coruscant; lexicons and translation scripts for the Arendellian language; records of Ino Cordova's reports on some other civilization called the "Zeffo", which he was apparently preoccupied with from a previous assignment. Her eyes flit over the screen with rapt attention, watching history play out before her, waiting for the façade to fall, for the Jedi to show their true colours.

Waiting for Arendelle to burn.

Except it doesn't come. She flicks past one final page and abruptly, there is no more. For a moment, she continues to click forward, thinking it's some glitch in the display.

She hears Hans's voice through the commlink in her mask before it carries to her from outside the mask, much farther away than it should be.

"Don't bother. There isn't any more. Someone purged the database of all documents dated after Order 66."

Whirling, she sees Hans looking to her with an almost apologetic expression from halfway down the corridor, his face framed by the closing diamond of sealing blast doors. She dashes forward, but it's much too late. The durasteel plates slide shut with a dull crash before she even makes two steps.

"_I'm sorry, Inquisitor," _his voice continues through her comm link. "_You're not the only one on a tight schedule. I wish we could have parted on better terms."_

Her gaze sweeps over the walls. There is no control terminal on this side of the doors. Hot rage flares like a beacon in her chest, sending spears of ice smashing into the thick metal. The wall holds firm, shattering the ice into crystal shards.

"Hans," she spits, fists clenched. "I will find you, and I will end you." Each word is a bullet.

"_Please be reasonable," _Hans replies, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone. "_I helped you, just like I said I would. It's only fair I get something out of this in return. Don't worry about me, Twelfth Sister. You won't be seeing me again."_ The comm clicks, severed.

It takes her three minutes to cut through the door with her lightsaber. It takes her thirty seconds to sprint back to the hangar. By then, the shuttle is long gone.

* * *

**"Slicing" is the Star Wars universe term for hacking. It feels a little tacky if I'm honest, but gotta stay faithful to the source material...**


	21. The Desert

**The Desert**

Strangely, of all the alien places the _Mantis _has taken her, Tatooine is where she feels most at home.

It's a miserable place. The heat and sand are insufferable in combination. Somehow, the space-proof hull of the ship isn't sand-proof—the grit burrows in through every seam and crack.

It doesn't take long for her to discover that none of her clothes are sand proof either.

Cal's training continues. It's tougher than it was on Dathomir. She rises before the suns every morning to meet him on the dunes, and they spar until the heat forces them back inside. In hindsight, it's clear that Cal was taking the lessons slowly before, pacing her, making sure she didn't go too far, too fast. Now, there's a fervent energy in his eyes with every swing, a ragged edge of desperation in his voice with every instruction he shouts.

"Watch your feet!"

"Slow, too slow!"

"Watch your form! Don't overextend!"

"Sloppy, try again!"

Anna remains diligent. She doesn't complain, even when her limbs feel like cement and her sweat stings her eyes. She doesn't bring up how every day it feels like the boy she met on Sriluur is twisting into something darker, sharper, the kindness in his eyes replaced by a grim determination. Is it determination, or a lust for revenge?

Yes, the lessons are different now. They're not about defense anymore; they're about defeating the opponent as quickly and efficiently as possible. The techniques are familiar in a twisted way, reminding her of the smart and dirty ways she learned to defend herself on the streets, where the brutes she scrapped with were often three times her size. Brutal, but almost elegant. Maybe that's why she picks it up so quickly.

Cere would have never approved.

Some days, she's almost glad about the way things turned out. She doesn't need to think about the past when she's living in the present. The present is simple. The present makes sense. Train hard, stay hidden. Survive. It's close to normal.

Some nights, she cries into her pillow because this isn't how things were supposed to turn out. Because getting her memories back was supposed to make things clearer, not more confusing. Because a small voice now whispers in her ear that her own sister could be the agent of darkness hunting them across the galaxy, a voice that only gets louder no matter how hard she tries to shut it up.

She jerks awake in the darkness of her quarters, shivering and covered in sweat. She was dreaming again, something with screams and fire. Nothing new there. Pushing herself to the edge of the bed, she lets the images slip from her mind as she focuses on combing back her hair and tying it into something that won't pose a hazard during training. Greez has suggested she cut it once or twice, but she can't bring herself to do it. It's the last thing she has left from her old life, as silly as that is.

She pulls a light tunic over her underclothes, feeling the sweat soak into the fabric as it slides across her grimy skin. Water is precious here, and she hasn't done much more than wipe herself down with a damp towel in weeks. She probably smells disgusting. At least her nose has gotten used to it. She's gotten used to the luxury of regular showers, and now that it's been taken away again, it really, really sucks.

Pants, boots, and arm-wraps she puts on meticulously, making sure to tuck in snugly around her ankles and waist to keep the sand out just that little bit longer. She plucks the lightsaber from her nightstand, hefting the weight in her hand as she watches the metal gleam in the faint lighting.

_The _lightsaber. It will never be _hers_. Underneath Cal's hodgepodge of mechanical additions is still the weapon of an Inquisitor. A weapon of the enemy. Every time she sees that blood-red blade, she's reminded of it.

She clips the lightsaber onto her belt and makes her way out of the ship.

Stars still wink in the sky above, but the horizon is brightening, the edges of the most distant dunes glowing like hot embers. She trudges up the side of the nearest dune, her feet sinking into the sand with each step. It's a gruelling climb, but her breathing is calm when she reaches her meditation spot at the top. Some days, Cal is here before her, but today it seems she has the place to herself for a while. Letting her eyes unfocus, she takes a deep breath and raises her hands.

It's something to look forward to now, this daily ritual, these moments of tranquility when her mind is clear and she can sense the Force in a sheen of quicksilver around every grain of sand and mote of dust around her. She's gotten better at meditating. Closing her eyes, she reaches out, trying to understand the song of the wind and the shape of the stars. She reaches inward, too, searching, grasping.

Tuning into the Force has become easier with practice, but as hard as she tries, she hasn't been able to bring back the fire. She can feel… something, but whatever's inside her is formless and dormant, slipping out of reach like sand between her fingers.

Elsa could do this at seven. Then again, she was always the quicker learner.

Two chirps from directly behind her pull her out of her trance. The tendrils of sand floating around her dissolve back into the ground as she opens her eyes.

"Didn't mean to startle you," a familiar voice says with a hint of humour.

Cal stands behind her on the spine of the dune, BD-1 poking over his shoulder with his head tilted in greeting.

"Good morning." Anna smiles at the droid, but her smile falls when she notices the bags under Cal's eyes.

"Let's get started," Cal says, abruptly serious. "It'll be light soon."

He draws his lightsaber without ceremony, igniting the blade and holding it out in front of him. Anna's body moves on its own, twisting out of the way as the rod of plasma sears the air where she was an instant ago. The sight of the blazing green light still sends a thrill of fear through her—the practice emitter means it won't kill her, but it doesn't exactly tickle either. As Cal carries his downward strike into a horizontal swing, she draws the Inquisitor saber with a jerk of her arm, igniting her own blade in time to catch Cal's before it meets her stomach.

"Cal, can we talk?"

But Cal is already batting aside her saber and lunging in for a stab. She feints to the side, bringing her blade down to direct his momentum into the ground. Red clashes with green with a sharp screech. Cal's eyes lock with hers for a split second, then something slams into her like a gust without wind, picking her off her feet and throwing her into the sand.

"An Inquisitor isn't just a stormtrooper with a lightsaber!" Cal admonishes. "The Force is as powerful an enemy as it is an ally."

Anna grits her teeth as she rises from the ground. Sand in her clothes. Cal comes at her full sprint, lightsaber droning as it pumps up and down with his arms. The scar across the bridge of his nose is accented by the pre-dawn light, his cheeks seeming sallow and haggard. Her heart twinges at the sight. He looks so _tired._

Instinctively, she raises her lightsaber to block Cal's next attack. Parry, backpedal, parry again.

She's tried to talk to him before. She's tried many times. Except for that first day on Tatooine, Cal hasn't responded except to insist that he's fine, that her training is his only priority now. But they live in the same ship, and as hard as Cal tries, he can't hide everything from her. She hears him tinkering away in the engine bay during hours he should be resting. She sees the way he picks at his food, even though he should be starving with the amount of effort that goes into their daily training sessions. Sometimes, she thinks she hears his sobs through the walls.

Duck, feint to the side, block. She feels the pressure before she sees Cal's free hand push toward her again and she steels herself, pushing back against the bubble of Force momentum with her own. Her feet drag across the sand, but she stands her ground. Cal's mask of grim concentration frustrates her for deeper reasons than she can figure out right now, and she feels the Force swell around her in response.

Well, she'll be damned if she doesn't use this to her advantage.

As Cal plants his feet for another blow, she splays her fingers and _pushes _at the air, sending a blast toward her mentor. Cal staggers backward with a shout of surprise, but his reflexes are much quicker than hers. The air between them shimmers with tension as Cal pushes back, and suddenly it feels like she's trying to push a landspeeder with a busted antigrav. Just like that, she's losing again.

The frustration flares like a wave. Sweat beads on her forehead.

Then, abruptly, something clicks. A different path, an invitation from the wind. Clumps of sand drift up around her, hovering in mid-air and vibrating with unstable energy. The sand begins rotating around her, slowly at first, then faster and faster until it's a tornado obscuring her view of her opponent. She can feel it all, every molecule around her as obvious as the suns in the sky.

All it needs is the right push.

She hears BD-1 let out a frightened trill through the scratching wind as the tornado tears apart in streaks of liquid fire. Instantly, the air stills. A shocked Cal Kestis stares up at her, on his back at the edge of the shards of glass now surrounding Anna in a perfect circle. His lightsaber is clutched tightly in one hand, still lit.

It takes a few breaths for Anna to realize that she's shaking.

Cal's lightsaber extinguishes with a soft hiss. BD-1 trundles forward, touching the glittering sheen crusted over the sand with a hesitant foot.

"Alright," Cal breathes, pushing himself up and dusting off his smoldering pant-legs. "Alright. We can talk."

* * *

The walk back is quiet. If they didn't need to breathe, it would have been silent. By the time they reach the _Mantis_, the first of the suns has risen high into the sky, its yellow glow reflecting off the sand and filtering through the half-open blinds screening the lounge windows.

Anna sips from a canteen of water. Cal sits hunched over on the other side of the couch, staring down at the lounge table like its blank surface is the galaxy's most interesting holovid. The arrangement reminds Anna of that first conversation after Sakiya, back when she was terrified of simply being next to a real-life Jedi. She wants to laugh. Instead, she takes the Inquisitor saber off her hip and places it on the table. Cal looks up at the noise. He doesn't say anything.

Guess she'll have to start.

"When you rescued me on Sakiya, I thought you were going to use me as a hostage. Do you remember that?"

Cal remains silent for a bit longer.

"Yeah, yeah I remember," he says with a low, humourless chuckle. "I felt so guilty for dragging you into my mess. I still do, sometimes."

"Why?"

Cal looks at her and sighs. "Because, will of the Force or not, you're being put through things nobody should have to go through. And sometimes it feels like that's my fault."

Anna blinks. Is _that _what this is all about?

"I'm not a child, you know." She leans back, crosses her arms. "I've been fending for myself a long time. Being one of the Empire's most wanted is a small price to pay for having friends for once. More than friends—a family."

Cal winces. "Yeah… well, this family's smaller than it used to be."

There it is.

"You're still not better, are you?" she asks gently.

Cal lets out a breath through his nose.

"I haven't been sleeping," he admits. "Guess you've noticed."

"Nightmares?"

Cal nods. "I can see them when I close my eyes. Master Topal. Prauf. Even Trilla sometimes. And now… now Cere."

"Cal, it's not your-"

"Not my fault that they died?" Cal shakes his head. BD-1 pushes up against his side, but Cal stares straight ahead, ignoring the droid. "Master Topal died rescuing me during Order 66. Prauf died trying to hide me from the Inquisitors. Cere died helping us escape a trap that _I_ lead us into." He fixes Anna with bloodshot eyes burning with loathing. "They saved me, but I couldn't save them. Not a single one."

He's quiet for a moment, bracing his elbows on his knees and clenching his hands in front of him.

"I'm scared, Anna." The words are barely audible. "The odds have never been on our side. I've lost so many mentors already. I can't lose my Padawan, too."

Anna takes Cal's hands in her own in a swift motion.

"Hey, I'm right here. I'm with you, no matter what happens. This is my fight, too."

"Of course it is." Cal looks back down at the table, shoulders slumped. "Cere said you're our last hope. Did you know that? I don't want to put that kind of pressure on you but… well, the pressure's on me, too, isn't it? What if I don't train you well enough? What if you _die_ because I wasn't a good enough teacher?" He looks up again with softer eyes that sink into her like daggers. "What if you turn to the Dark Side?"

There's a lump in Anna's throat now, but she pushes past it, forcing her words to be steady.

"Cal. You're the bravest, most stubborn person I've ever met. The entire galaxy's been trying to kill you for years, but you're still here. That's got to count for something. I believe in you, more than anyone or anything." She gives his hands a gentle squeeze. "And I won't lose myself to the Dark Side. I know who the enemy is, trust me."

She doesn't know how long they spend there, but it's long enough for the single tear that squeezes its way out of the corner of Cal's left eye to make it all the way to the tip of his chin, hanging in a translucent bead as if too nervous to fall.

Then suddenly, the cockpit door is sliding open. They both turn at the noise like startled scazz.

"We're running low on salt again so I was thinking of heading into town. Anything you guys need me to pick up?" Greez freezes on his way into the lounge, his eyes immediately locking onto their still-coupled hands. "Sorry, is this a bad time? I… I can come back later."

* * *

The terrarium is still providing for a large portion of their food needs, but it isn't enough. It doesn't take too long before they start running out of money. Cere was the one keeping them afloat by skimming credits off bank transfers, but Cere isn't here anymore, and Imperial credits are no good out here, anyway.

Eventually, Greez agrees to let Anna help with the situation. Thirteen years in the Outer Rim has taught her a thing or two about making money in backwater places on backwater planets, after all. Cal tries to object, but it doesn't last—it's not like he can deny that they're in a tough spot. Staying hidden won't do them any good if they starve, and the reality is "Anna Arrel's" face is on far fewer wanted posters than Cal Kestis's.

The first trip into town with Greez is like a breath of fresh air. Not that the air in town is particularly fresh, but it isn't the air that's been stifling Anna these past weeks. Being parked in the shadow of a massive dune, the _Mantis_ is out of sight of both the town to the East and the roving bands of Jawas in their lumbering sandcrawlers out toward the Western sands. It's only after diving into the crowded hubbub of Freles township that she realizes just how lonely the past month of isolation has been. Just the sight of people has her grinning beneath the scarf covering her face. The smell of the smoke rising from chimneys and grills mixed with the musk of passers-by makes the scene feel like a slice of the past.

Her real past, the part she lived for over a decade. Not the part that came before, the part that feels so much more like a nightmare than something that actually happened.

"Where are we going, Greez?" she asks, instinctively filing away the details of her surroundings in case someone tries to jump them. Old habits.

"There's always work at the cantina," Greez answers with a shrug. His words are slightly muffled by the respirator covering the lower half of his face.

The Latero leans over and points toward a nondescript building at the end of the street. The dwellings and shops here are made of squat domes of sandstone, rising out of the dusty streets like sleeping tortoises. Bulky animals and landspeeders laden with cargo netting plod along at the center of the road, while vendors and pedestrians alike huddle in the shadows to avoid the suns' searing gaze. Anna's eyes linger on a rack of strange creatures being slow-roasted on a long spit, half squid and half lizard.

She raises a hand to shield her gaze from the sun as she turns her attention to the building Greez indicated. Canvas banners hang in tatters from the corners of the side facing them, proclaiming the name of the establishment in both Aurebesh and Huttese as they approach.

_The Wandering Sandfly_

They stop in unison in front of the industrial-steel blast door that serves as an entrance to the establishment. Greez smacks one of his fists against the sensor nested into the wall, and the door shudders open with a groan and a shower of red dust.

"Just follow my lead, kid. Trouble won't find ya unless you go looking for it."

The air inside is cool and still, pulsing with the deep beat of what sounds like a recording of the newest hit by The Hu. A short set of stairs leads down into a darkened basement lounge with booths carved out of the stone walls, many occupied by figures huddled over glowing beverages. A simple circular bar wraps around the column at the center of the room, tended by a pudgy, bored-looking Dug currently cleaning grubby glasses with an equally grubby cloth.

Anna's hand moves under the folds of her thin coat to rest over the comforting handle of her blaster. Taverns were never her cup of tea—she was never one for cups of anything from these places. As a teenage orphan girl, drunk was the last thing she wanted to be somewhere like this.

"Mudd," the bartender greets in dry tones without looking up. "Back so soon?"

Anna has to restrain herself from raising an eyebrow at the fake name. Of course Greez used a fake name. That's the smart thing to do. She scrambles to think of one for herself.

"What can I say?" Greez—Mudd—drawls. "The money goes quick. Thought you weren't the type to ask questions."

The Dug chuckles humorlessly. "No, never questions. You actually gonna get a drink this time?"

"Sure, give me a shot of hard malt, neat."

"Coming right up. Anything for your lady-friend there?"

"No, I don't drink," Anna answers, wincing at how high-pitched the words come out. She clears her throat before continuing in a deeper voice. "Mudd here says you got work for us."

"I might, yeah. Depends on the kind of work." The bartender raises an eyebrow at her. "What's your name, girlie?"

"My name is… Kendra." She needs a last name, quick. "Kendra Arrel." Might as well keep using it if it's made up.

"Kendra, nice to make yer acquaintance."

The Dug waddles over to the menagerie of bottles stacked along the shelf and pours Greez's drink before disappearing around the other side of the pillar to help an old, orange-skinned Twi'lek with a missing headtail.

Anna feels a hand on her arm.

"Hey, take it easy," Greez mutters under his breath. "You're too tense. Maybe you need this more than me."

He offers her the glass of cloudy brown liquor, which she declines with a hard shake of her head. A port opens on the Latero's respirator as he raises his glass and gulps down the shot with a shrug.

The bartender returns, bringing her foot-hands down on the counter with a startling slap.

"Sorry, never introduced myself. Name's Herita. I've been working here for longer than a lot of these folks been alive." The piercings adorning the tendrils hanging from her long snout gleam under the faint yellow lights. "I take it you're in cahoots with Mudd?"

She glances toward Greez, who answers with a nod.

"Yeah, Kendra's with me. She's handy with a wrench or a slicing kit."

"What about that blaster she keeps under her coat there? She handy with that, too?"

Anna slowly moves her hand back into view, gritting her teeth under her scarf. She didn't even realize she was still gripping the blaster. Leaving the lightsaber back on the ship was a good choice.

"I can take care of myself, if that's what you're asking," she says carefully.

Herita holds her gaze for a long moment before cracking a toothy grin.

"Good. In that case, I might have some work for you after all." The Dug leans in conspiratorially. "The township has attracted some _unwanted attention_ from gangsters recently. We're a small town. Most of these folks are simple moisture farmers—no match for a bunch of armed thugs. I'm getting the sense that you two might be made of sterner stuff. You chase these criminals outta my town, and I'll pay you handsomely."

Anna shares a glance with Greez. Greez speaks first.

"We're gonna need more details than that."

"I knew I could count on yer interest, Mudd," Herita chuckles. "The thugs in question are holed up in an abandoned farm shack out on the other side of town, I can show you a map. Big fellas, never got a close look at 'em, but I hear they've been harassing people for information about the Hutts." She sniffs in disdain, nostrils flaring. "Galaxy's already gone to shavit with the Empire getting their fingers in everyone's pies, the last thing Feles needs is for a crime war to break out on our turf. I know you ain't from around here, but if you do this for us, I can make sure you're not wanting for food or water for as long as you need to stay here."

"And if we refuse?" Anna asks evenly.

"Then you'll have to go somewhere else for work," Herita huffs, backing away from the counter and spreading her arms. "Look, just take it or leave it, I ain't twisting yer arm."

Anna glances anxiously back to Greez.

"Better this than going back to gambling," the Latero grumbles to himself. "Alright, let's see the map."

Herita crouches down under the counter and comes back up with a small datapad, which she hands over to the Latero.

"X marks the spot. Come back when the job's done and we'll talk payment."

"I've heard that one before," Greez growls. "Fifty peggats up front, or the deal's off."

The smile slips from the Dug's lips to be replaced by a grimace.

"I can do thirty. No more," she says in a raised voice. Chips scratch against the rough countertop as Herita slaps a stack down with a meaty foot-hand, pushing it toward Greez. "I promise I'll have more when you come back. If I don't, well, you can go ahead and shoot me."

Greez glances once more to Anna, a silent question in his eyes. Anna nods quickly. She doesn't want to be here anymore. Herita's painting them as the bad guys. Greez palms the chips one by one with agonizing slowness, inspecting each before transferring them into the satchel at his waist.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Herita," he finally sighs. "Let's go."

Anna turns from the counter and fixes her gaze on the stairs leading back up to the surface, trying to ignore the stares of the rest of the patrons. Her nerves are buzzing with tension, almost as bad as they were when she signed up for that spice-running gig with the Haxion Brood. Only when the monolithic door slides open in front of them, washing away the dim lights of the cantina with blinding desert sun, do her fists unclench.

Neither of them say anything until they're a few blocks away.

"Do you think it's a trap?" Anna finally whispers. "I think I've had enough of those for about three lifetimes."

Greez barks a laugh. "Kid, everyone wants to come out on top in every deal. It's always a trap, one way or another."

"Enough with the Grandpa Greez act," Anna says, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Greez raises the datapad in front of his face, pausing in his steps.

"Well, seems like the place Herita thinks the gangsters are haunting is on the opposite end of town from the ship. That's good news, at least. Can't hurt to at least scope it out."

"Should we get Cal?" Anna eyes the faint blip on the gridded screen.

"Probably a good idea."

As they continue down the dusty road back in the direction of the dunes, Anna feels a tickle of unease at the back of her neck.

This whole fiasco started with gangsters, after all.


	22. The Job

**The Job**

"This is probably a bad idea."

Cal lowers the binoculars from his eyes, ducking back down behind the ridge of craggy stone where Anna and Greez are hiding with their bellies to the ground.

"Do you have a better plan?" Anna folds her arms over her chest—an impressive feat when she's lying on the ground, to be sure.

"Not really," Cal admits with a sigh. "But you have to feel it, too. This reeks of a trap."

Anna pushes herself to her feet and takes the binoculars from him, ignoring the sense of dread still sitting in a tangle at the bottom of her stomach. Peeking over the ridge, she aims the lens toward the collection of squat sandstone houses in the valley below, setting the view to thermal mode with the twist of a knob. Two spots of faint yellow pop out of the sea of cool blue, both within the dome of the main dwelling.

Well, it's certainly not an army.

"What do you see, kid?" Greez hisses from behind her.

"Looks like there's two of them," she mutters, sweeping the binoculars over the rest of the buildings and abandoned moisture-farming machinery. She lingers on the three entrances through the circular stone wall marking the farm's borders before lowering the binoculars and crawling back down to Cal and Greez. "They have a couple of droids guarding the entrances. Some clunky old off-brand models. I doubt they even shoot straight."

"See, it'll be easy," Greez whispers. "We go down there blasters blazing, fry their security, and send them packing with their tails between their legs. Job done, be back at the _Mantis_ in time for a good night's sleep."

BD-1 chirps enthusiastically.

"What if those are bounty hunters or elite mercs? With jetpacks?" Cal waves his blaster in the air—a standard-issue stormtrooper sidearm he grabbed at random from the cargo hold. "I don't like the idea of fighting two of those with nothing but _this._"

"_Jetpacks?" _Anna laughs incredulously. "There isn't a mob in the galaxy that would spend that kind of cred just to scare some defenseless villagers into line. Honestly, I'm willing to bet those guys are here for some kind of rite of initiation. Antagonize fifteen villagers to become a full-fledged member of the gang, kind of thing."

"I hope you're right," Cal says ruefully, scrutinizing his blaster one more time before rolling off the ground and into a crouch. "Alright, let's just get this over with."

They fasten their masks in unison—Cal and Greez with their respirators, and Anna with a coarse fabric scarf that she winds over her mouth and nose. She always has something covering her face now, and she barely even feels the weight of the cloth against her skin. Even out here, there's a chance someone could recognize them, and that's not a chance they can ever afford to take.

Of course, there's something else that can incriminate them so much more easily than their faces ever could.

She slides a hand down the side of her jacket, feeling the slight bulge where it conceals the lightsaber at her hip. She doesn't need to look to know that Cal has his, too, hidden under the coarse tatters of the burlap poncho draped over his shoulders.

As much as she tries to deny it, the irrational side of her is whispering that it just seems too easy. The fact is, neither of them had the heart to leave their lightsabers behind, despite the inherent risk of carrying them. That has to be a premonition in and of itself.

She keeps her eyes on the back of Greez's jacket as she follows him down the stony slope toward the outskirts of the farm, careful not to knock any rocks loose on the way. A thin veil of dust hangs in the air, casting soft auras around the perimeter lights and screening out the stars. The archway of the farm entrance is blocked by a door made of brown, crusted steel.

It'll take much more than a simple wall to stop Anna of Arendelle now, though.

The air goes still around her as she winds back for the jump. She tenses her legs and dashes forward, throwing herself upward like she's seen Cal do so many times. Calm falls over her in the moment of the leap, then she's grasping onto the edge of the wall, pulling herself over with a strength she's barely gotten used to. Cal lands beside her with his signature front-flip. When their eyes meet, she has to stifle a laugh.

"Show-off," she whispers.

"Hey, a little help?" Greez hisses up from the ground.

Cal reaches down and opens his palm. An invisible force hoists the Latero up within reach of Cal's hand. Greez shudders as Cal pulls him up onto the wall beside them.

"I hate it when you do that," he grumbles. "It ain't natural."

A mechanical whirring sound from the other side of the wall has them freezing in their motions. A spindly droid with too many arms trundles toward the gate beneath them on mismatched wheels, ocular sensors winking sporadically on the sides of its cylindrical head.

"_Tres-trespasser," _it intones in a garbled voice, jabbing an arm into the scomp port on the wall. The door under the archway starts sinking into the ground with a groan.

It must think they're on the other side of the wall. From the way its head rotates, it doesn't look like it's even capable of looking up.

Cal catches Anna's eye. She nods once. Letting herself slip off the lip of the wall, she lands softly in the sand behind the droid. The machine whirls as Cal and Greez land around her with muted thuds, its red eyes winking faster in aggression.

"_Hostiles detected."_

"Thanks for opening the door," Greez drawls, squeezing off a shot straight into its head.

The pasty sandstone walls of the huts around them are painted brilliant red and blue by Cal and Anna's follow-up shots. The droid only manages a single shot of its own that flies harmlessly into the sky before it's reduced to a flaming heap of blackened scrap.

She almost feels bad for the thing.

"That oughta wake them up," Greez chuckles, twirling his blaster and turning to walk toward the larger building at the end of the path.

Anna and Cal fan out on either side of the street, blasters still raised. A soft wind carries the smoke from the blaze forward, ruffling her hair as the inky wisps part around her body. A second droid rounds the corner, only to be immediately put down by a hail of blaster fire.

She takes a moment to blow smoke off the end of her pistol barrel. This must be how those protagonists in the action vids must feel.

BD-1 chirps a short message.

"They're coming out," Cal announces, raising his blaster back to eye level. "Be ready."

They make it three-quarters of the way to the homestead before the door slides open with the screech of poorly-greased rails.

"What the crink is going on here?" a gravelly voice bellows, reverberating off hard walls. The hulking shadow of a male Klatooinian steps from the doorway, emerging into the street and squinting in the dim yellow light. "Who are you?" he sneers at Greez, showing the sharp points of his underbite.

"You fellas ain't wanted in this town anymore," Greez states tonelessly. "We're the eviction notice."

The Klatooinian sneers again, on the verge of launching into another tirade when he's interrupted by a meaty hand landing on his shoulder from behind. A second Klatooinian emerges from the shadows of the doorway, wearing a sleeveless vest that leaves the veiny, reptilian flesh of his arms bare. In his other hand, the newcomer drags a massive rotary blaster cannon.

"You and what army, little man?" he grins sardonically, hefting the cannon with a chuckle like crushed gravel. "Boss says this town is his now, and when Sorc Tormo says something's his, you better believe it."

Anna's eyes widen as a tickle of unease crawls up her spine. When she takes a closer look at the second Klatooinian, she almost laughs out loud at the absurdity of the situation. Here, right in front of her, halfway across the galaxy from where they last met, stands none other than Klarg.

Greez and Cal look a lot tenser now.

"Look, we don't want to cause trouble with the Brood, but you've antagonized the people of Feles township enough," Cal says evenly from behind the barrel of his blaster. "Walk away, or this gets ugly."

Klarg sniffs the air and growls deep in his chest. His yellow eyes sweep over Anna and for a tense instant she thinks she sees a flicker of recognition. Instead, his gaze settles on Greez.

"What's a Latero doing on Tatooine?" Narrowing his eyes, he takes a lumbering step forward. "Hey, do I know you?"

Not good.

"Can't say we didn't warn you," Anna mutters, raising her pistol.

Cal's eyes flit frantically toward her, but her finger is already on the trigger. Maybe she should have flipped the setting on her blaster to stun, but she doesn't. The bolt of red plasma carves through the flesh of Klarg's forearm, making him drop the cannon with a roar of pain. She aims a shot at his thigh before he has a chance to take another step, drawing out a second scream and sending him to the street. The other Klatooinian quickly raises his hands as Greez and Cal advance on him.

"Hey, alright, we're going, we're going!" he shouts as he backs around where Klarg is doubled over in the dust. "I didn't sign up for this shavit!"

Klarg, unfortunately, has much thicker skin.

"Oh no you don't!" he spits, a string of saliva running down the corner of his mouth as he glares defiantly up at Anna, clutching his arm. "Sorc Tormo always has the last laugh!"

A crash sounds from somewhere further down the path. Tremors run through the ground as heavy mechanical footsteps echo from beyond the opaque dust. Anna, Greez, and Cal all turn in unison to stare in the direction of the sound.

"Is that…" Anna asks haltingly.

"Bounty droid," Cal says through his teeth.

"Just our luck," Greez mutters, whirling on Klarg with his blaster. "You screwed up, pal."

The Klatooinian replies with a toothy grin. "Take cover, little man."

The whine of an electric motor cuts through the air an instant before strobing flashes of blaster fire scream out from the alley to their left. Greez dives to the dirt as bolts of plasma carve a trail of tiny craters across the street behind him, sending up plumes of rock dust that sting Anna's eyes. The glare of the perimeter lights gleam off the dull edges of a hulking rectangular silhouette striding toward them through the gloom.

"_Looks like it's time to get paid," _booms a thick, modulated voice.

"Don't let it scan you!" Cal yells, dashing to Greez's side and helping him to his feet.

The walking refrigerator of a murder machine continues to advance, peering through the dust with a single white eye as it sweeps its cannon arm this way and that. Anna fires three times at an arm, a leg, and the torso. The bolts ricochet off the armour plating as if she were throwing pebbles.

"_Come here, little girl. Let's see what your head is worth," _the droid rasps, fixing its blazing eye on her. Crouching slightly, it angles its shoulder and charges.

Man, she hates these things.

She throws herself aside as the droid thunders past with bone-shattering momentum, steadying herself with a palm to the ground as she watches it take a chunk out of the nearest building with its enormous fist. The torso swivels a full 180 degrees to face her again, projecting a grid of green lasers out of a hole beneath its eye. Taking a breath, she pushes with her hands and mind, sending a cloud of sand into the air between her and the bounty droid and momentarily obscuring it from view. Klarg might have too few functioning brain cells to recognize them with their faces covered, but it won't matter if this droid gets a lock on any of them with its bounty scanner.

Cal rushes up beside her, a hand hovering over the lightsaber at his belt.

"I'm ending this," he states grimly.

"No!" Anna tackles him to the ground as another volley of cannon fire whizzes through the space where they were standing.

"What are you doing?" Cal throws her off with a scowl.

"Listen—_look out!_" she shouts over her shoulder.

Halfway down the street, Greez takes a dive behind the nearest building as the spot where he was standing is raked by scorching plasma.

"_This'll be a big payday," _the droid laughs gutturally.

Anna grabs onto Cal's wrist as he reaches for his lightsaber a second time.

"What happened to laying low?" she hisses. "I can deal with the droid. I know where the weak spots are."

"Laying low?" Cal sputters, yanking his arm free. "Mission failed, I think! The farm is exploding!"

"Farms blow up all the time," Anna retorts. The bounty droid bathes her in its floodlights as she scrambles to her feet, shielding her eyes from the glare. "Just cover me!"

The droid's scanner flickers back to life, but this time she holds her ground. Squeezing one eye shut, she raises her pistol. The first shot goes high, ricocheting into the dark. The second finds its mark, and the laser grid winks out with a shower of sparks. The droid lets out a foghorn bellow, the five barrels of its wrist-mounted revolver cannon whirring up to speed as it points its arm toward her. Cal's blaster bolts glance off its shoulder, but it doesn't even seem to notice.

As the first bolts leave the cannon barrel, Anna closes her eyes. Time slows to a standstill.

The Force is her ally. She can do this.

Dashing forward, she throws herself into a slide, ducking under the beam of plasma rounds as they carve through the air centimeters above her head. Loose locks of hair spilling from the confines of her scarf sizzle as they're singed to a crisp. The droid pivots and strikes down at her with its other fist. Rolling out of the slide, she springs up into the air, feeling the wind of the blow buffet her coat as she flips over the droid's swing.

"_Up close and personal!" _the machine gutters, wrenching its hand from the crater it created in the street. "_Just how I like it."_

She should be terrified, but she doesn't give herself time to think. Trust in the Force. As the droid rotates and throws a backhand toward her, she coaxes the quicksilver in a gossamer web around its body, weaving loops upon loops until it's completely entangled. One of Cal's tricks. The droid's servo motors scream as they strain to break free from their invisible shackles. Sweat beads on Anna's forehead.

She can't keep this up. It's now or never.

Scrambling forward, she scales her opponent's frozen arm up to its massive torso. She's serviced bounty droids before—there's usually a maintenance panel that leads straight to the central processor, located about three-quarters of the way up the droid's back on the left-hand side. Unfortunately, the panel on this droid is locked with a heavy security bolt. Clenching her teeth, she fires her pistol point blank. The first shot ricochets. The second makes a dent. The third widens the hole. The fourth heats the metal red. The fifth snaps the lock and sends it pinging to the ground—just as the droid breaks free of the Force-slow with an enraged roar. For an instant, she's confused by why she's flying through the air, then the hard stone of the nearest building wall smashes into her back hard enough to convince her that her lungs have been removed through her throat.

"_Stupid girl," _she hears through the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. With the edges of her vision closing in, she sees the bounty droid turn to train its cannon squarely on her chest.

"Hey!" yells a familiar voice.

There's a sound like a muted thunderclap. The droid staggers forward on unsteady legs before whirling and training its gun on Cal instead. Through the space between the droid's legs, Anna can see Cal going for his lightsaber. Pushing herself off the ground, she gives her head a shake to clear it.

_Bad_ idea. At least the pain wakes her up.

Just as the droid's cannon spins up, she shoves at the air with her free hand, sending a blast of her own toward the droid's back. She dashes forward as it staggers, throwing herself onto the back of its rectangular body with a flying leap. The droid pitches forward in slow motion, legs flailing as it topples to the street with a long groan. Immediately, it tries to roll over and throw her off again, but she holds on with white knuckles, even as her shoulder joints scream in protest.

"_Stupid girl!" _the droid bellows.

The maintenance panel flaps just above her on squeaky hinges. With a cry of exertion, she grabs onto a protruding bit of droid-back and pulls herself level with it. She can see the fist-sized metal sphere of the bounty droid's brain sitting inside the cavity, flashing with indicator lights.

"You're even uglier on the inside," she growls, taking aim with her blaster.

The smell of melted circuitry fills the air, and the droid crashes limply to the ground, its floodlights flickering out like a dying candle. For a moment, Anna and Cal just stare at each other, breathing hard. Slowly, Cal retrieves his hand from beneath the edge of his poncho.

"You're telling me I've been hacking these things to pieces for three years," he mutters, "when this whole time they had a convenient off button on their backs?"

"Guess you never had to use these on Bracca, huh?" Anna laughs dazedly. Out of habit, she ejects the heat sink out the side of her blaster, watching it sizzle in the dry night air.

"They wouldn't let me near the droids. My foreman was a droid, did I ever tell you that?"

"Guys, is it dead? It's dead, right?" Greez shuffles back into view from his hiding spot several meters down the street, clutching his blaster in one of his trembling hands. Seeing the mass of unmoving machine under Anna's feet, he straightens up and dusts off his shoulders. "_Man_, I hate those things."

"Wait a minute." Cal walks around the felled bounty droid, his posture tensing again. "Where'd those other goons go?"

Anna and Greez turn in unison to an empty street. A dull whine not unlike the sound of a landspeeder motor sounds far in the distance.

"Shavit," Greez mutters.

* * *

The main street through Feles township is unusually quiet the next morning. A sizable portion of the population probably heard the ruckus coming from the old moisture farm on the outskirts of town the night before—and for those who hadn't, the sight of the hulking bounty droid that the strange newcomers are currently pulling down the center of the road on a sagging cargo gurney is more than enough to send landspeeders swerving down side streets and children ducking back into their homes.

Anna glances around at the myriad of curious and cautious faces staring at them from the surrounding buildings, her shoulders tense. There's no wind today, and the air tastes stale through her threadbare scarf.

"Did we have to do this so… obviously?" she grumbles.

"Can't have Herita backing out on the deal," Greez mutters back. "We need that money to fix the _Mantis_. She ain't making another trip through hyperspace without her fin."

Murmurs drift to her ears, some hopeful, some fearful.

"_Is that… a bounty droid?"_

"_Guess those gangsters got what they had coming to them."_

"_Finally, we can stop sleeping with blasters under our pillows."_

"_This marks trouble, I'm telling you."_

"_What if these people are worse?"_

She grimaces. The townspeople aren't the real danger. Brood bounty hunters will be after them like flies to a corpse once Klarg gets word out about last night—giant flies, with jetpacks. The sooner they can disappear, the better.

"I'm thinking another trip through hyperspace might be a real good idea," she says out the side of her mouth.

"You and me both, kid." Greez sighs. "One step at a time, eh?"

The gaping maw of an entrance to the _Wandering Sandfly _looms in front of them, the banners seeming even more tattered without wind to carry them. Greez punches the button to open the door, and Anna lets out a small sigh of relief as cooler air rushes over her from inside.

"What the kriff is this, Mudd?" a disgruntled voice rasps from down the stairs. Herita hobbles up to ground level on all fours, leveling a small blaster pistol in one foot-hand as she approaches. "Not another step! You ain't bringing that thing into my establishment."

A human and a Twi'lek come up behind her, wielding blasters of their own.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, this whole thing was your idea, remember?" Greez raises two of his hands, gesturing toward the droid with the others. "We drove off the goons and took care of their ugly bodyguard, see? Just give us the money, and we'll be on our way."

The Twi'lek shifts. "Herita… _you _sent them? Do you know what you've done?" He glances toward Greez and Anna, licking his lips nervously. "We have two rules on Tatooine! Don't fuck with the Hutts, and _don't fuck with the Haxion Brood._"

The screech of a firing blaster stuns him into silence.

"Shut up," Herita barks, her smoking blaster still pointed to the ceiling. She takes a long breath as she lowers the gun. "I didn't think they were Haxion Brood," she says in a lower voice. "This is bad."

"Cut the bullshit," Greez growls. "Should have thought this through before you offered us the job. Do you have the money or not?"

Slowly, grudgingly, the Dug reaches into one pocket of her baggy pants, fishing out a stack of translucent blue chips. She drops them into Greez's hands with a look of disdain. The Latero shakes his head stiffly.

"This ain't enough."

"Are you threatening me, Latero?" Herita huffs, sounding more exhausted than angry. "It's all I got. Take it and go. Don't come back."

"Wait!" Anna calls as the Dug begins to turn. "It doesn't have to be money."

Herita's companions raise their weapons warily as Anna takes a step forward. The bartender eyes Anna over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

"Look, we don't want to be here either, but our ship's damaged," Anna pushes on. "If you could spare us some parts and pit droids, we'll be out of your hair a lot quicker. Pardon the expression." She glances at the Dug's smooth, scaly head.

Herita stares back at her for a long moment.

"You're new to this aren't you, Little Miss Arrel," she finally states. Sighing, she turns toward the scruffy-looking human man accompanying the Twi'lek. "Ori, think you can spare a couple pit droids for my _friends _here?"

Ori scowls. "And if I say no?"

"Wasn't a request," Herita waves dismissively. "Have them sent to Mister Mudd's ship at your earliest convenience."

"Fine." Ori folds his muscular arms. "You owe me one."

"You owe me more," Herita retorts irritably. She gives Anna one final glance. "Take my advice, girl. Get the hell out of Feles township."

"That's the plan," Anna answers—but the door of the tavern is already sliding shut in front of her face.

* * *

"Well, this is a mess," Cal grumbles, idly flipping a coin of Calamari Flan as he leans back on the lounge couch.

The dining table behind him is occupied by two piles of currency: dull, metallic peggats beside glistening, translucent Flan. It's more money than Anna's ever held—but, then again, she's never had to foot the maintenance bills for a repurposed luxury yacht during her years as a stowaway. She turns over a peggat in her hand, feeling its weight. What ridiculous amounts of ion fuel must be used just to lug _money_ around the galaxy?

"How are we for money now?" she asks Greez.

Greez exhales, flapping his lips. "Should be enough for another month of supplies, give or take."

"We'd better buy quick if we want to buy here," Cal pipes. "We're getting off this rock as soon as this thing can fly again."

As if in response, metallic scratching and thumping echoes through the ceiling.

"I really hope those droids aren't screwing stuff up worse," Greez says in a low voice. "You couldn't have asked for a real mechanic instead?"

"What, and have that Ori guy working on the _Mantis _himself?" Anna snorts. "_He_ sure seemed friendly."

BD-1 hops up onto the back of the couch, chirping something about a flight plan. With the amount of time Anna spends around the friendly droid, she's picked up a little binary, though it's still not nearly enough to hold a conversation.

"There's an idea," Cal answers. "BD says we don't have to leave the planet. We _could_ go find another town to hide in—this planet's littered with them."

"Could go somewhere controlled by the Hutts," Greez muses. "Use the gang feud to our advantage."

"Would save a heck of a lot of fuel…" Cal drops off as he lets the coin slip out of his hands. His shoulders are suddenly tense. He locks eyes with Anna, and a cold, all-too-familiar sense of dread creeps up her spine.

"How long are these repairs gonna be?" she asks curtly.

"Shouldn't be too long." Greez raises an eyebrow. "Those DUM units work pretty quick. Ori said they'd be done by sundown. Why?"

Anna backs from the table, her hand already reaching for her blaster as Cal leaps up from the couch in a swift motion.

"Okay guys, what's happening?" Greez glances slowly between the two of them. "You're starting to freak me out."

"We don't have until sundown," Cal states matter-of-factly.

A blast rocks the floor of the lounge as every light in the ship winks out simultaneously.


	23. The Witch

**The Witch**

Silence follows the blast, then a hard thud as BD-1 crashes to the floor, slipping limply off Cal's shoulder.

"No!" Anna shouts. Cal's already scooping up the droid in his arms, checking him over with meticulous fingers.

"EMP charge," he says ruefully, laying BD-1's senseless form gently onto the lounge table. "We'll have to reboot him, but I think we have bigger problems right now."

The floor rattles again. A shadow passes over the windows—something big, and close.

"They're here already, aren't they?" Greez sounds like he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and take a long nap.

Anna rushes forward through the darkened lounge into the cockpit, leaning over the dashboard and squinting out the windshield. A dingy-looking ship belching smoke from three blazing engines touches down on the dune in front of her, setting off a cascade of sand and dust that briefly obscures it from view. A ramp is already open on the back of the fuselage, dropping two bulky figures to the sand like dung from a bantha's behind.

"We got company!" Anna yells over her shoulder. "More bounty droids!"

"Not just bounty droids," Cal says with a resigned sigh. "We can't be that lucky twice."

As if on cue, smaller figures emerge from the back of the ship, flat helmets and metallic shoulder pads glinting in the glare of the suns. Gouts of fire spew from their slim backpacks as they leap into the air, climbing high above their hulking companions.

"They actually brought jetpacks?" Anna groans. "That is _so _excessive."

A crash and metallic shriek yank her attention away from the window.

"Cal—_Cal_, what are you doing to my door!" Greez shouts, his upper hands grabbing at nonexistent hair in exasperation.

"We're sitting ducks in here!" Cal shouts back. "We have to take the fight to them." Leaning back, he braces his feet against the wall, pulling on the emergency release lever beside the exit with all his might. "Shit, Greez, have you ever even oiled this thing?"

"Of course not! I never planned on crashing the ship!"

With a final groan of protest, the lever comes clean off its hinge, sending Cal flat on his behind. The unpowered doors crack open with a groan. Anna rushes forward and pries the doors open with a groan of exertion, spilling hot wind and blinding sunlight into the cabin.

"Cover us, Greez," Cal mutters as he pushes himself to his feet. "This could get ugly." Snatching his own blaster from the couch, he dashes out into the desert with a flying leap.

Drawing her pistol, Anna leaps out of the ship after him, tucking into a roll to break her fall as her feet meet the sand. She tastes the grit in the air as she springs back up, her ears filled with the roar of the bounty hunters' booster jets. Suddenly, she realizes that neither of them have their faces covered.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here, fellas?" a modulated voice mocks from above. "A pretty catch, indeed. That ship'll fetch some nice coin, on top of your heads."

Wordlessly, she and Cal turn away from each other to train their blasters on the two bounty droids moving to encircle them. Hers has one hand completely replaced by a spiked flail on the end of a chain, the black barrel of a laser cannon adorning its other arm.

"Trust me, you don't want this fight," Cal calls out in a raised voice. "We're on our way out of the system. You let us go, we promise we won't bother you or the Brood again."

"_The boy is begging for his life," _Anna's droid gutters with a deep chuckle that sounds like a dying engine.

The bounty hunter who first spoke lands in front of them in a puff of sand. Up close, it's clear the weapon in his hands is too long and narrow to be a blaster rifle. The flicker of a pilot flame under the tip gives its identity away: a flamethrower. She swallows nervously.

Lightsabers can't deflect fire.

"_It's him!" _the other droid exclaims from Cal's direction. "_It's Cal Kestis!"_

Anna's heart sinks. The barrel of her blaster flits between the droid slowly bearing down on her and the second bounty hunter still hovering in the air like a buzzard.

"The Jedi? Well I'll be." There's a hunger in the hunter's words. The tip of the flamethrower ignites with a burst of flame.

"Fine." Cal's voice is toneless. "Have it your way."

A blaster thuds to the ground behind her. The familiar hum of Cal's lightsaber fills the air.

Loosing off two quick shots at the bounty hunter in the air, Anna dives out of the way as the bounty droid sends a hail of plasma bullets in her direction. The whistling of a missile sounds from above, and she feels its twisting path as a presence that prickles the hairs on her neck. Still sprawled in the sand, she throws her free hand in the air, nudging the projectile just enough to crater the ground next to her with a blast that makes her ears ring.

The Inquisitor saber feels like it's burning into her thigh.

Clenching her jaw, she slips the pistol back into its holster and moves to grasp the lightsaber hilt. A flick of her thumb opens the safeties on the practice emitters as she rises to her feet in the settling dust.

"Have it your way," she echoes, igniting the weapon with a twirl. Calm washes over her at the familiar presence of the activated Kyber crystal.

The hunter swoops down over her with a blast of exhaust fumes and the staccato screech of blaster fire. A blade of searing red catches them before they meet their mark. She can hear the second droid firing at Cal behind her. She can feel the buzz of Cal's lightsaber moving faster than it can shoot. She can sense yet more blaster bolts whizzing overhead as Greez returns fire at the attacking bounty hunter.

Anna takes a single breath.

As the last bolt of the hunter's salvo zips toward her, she angles the lightsaber with instinctive precision, deflecting it screaming back at its sender. The streak of plasma strikes one of the two thrusters on the hunter's jetpack, sending him careening out of the air with a startled yelp and a trail of smoke.

"Morons! Stop _shooting_ at them!" the other bounty hunter yells in exasperation.

The droids halt in their advance. Cal and Anna step backward until their backs touch, holding up their lightsabers in defensive stances. For a moment, only the dissonant tones of their mismatched blades hang in the tense air. A cry sounds in the distance as the bounty hunter in the air finally crashes into the dune behind the _Mantis_.

"_Oh, right," _the droid with the flail mutters.

That's the only warning they get before three streams of chemical fire sear toward them from all sides. Anna looks frantically between the enemies bearing down on them, raising the lightsaber in a vain attempt at intimidation as she and Cal are trapped between the _Mantis's _unforgiving hull and a closing wall of roiling flame.

Does having fire powers make one resistant to fire? That would make sense, right?

A shot flies from the doorway behind them, bouncing off the lead hunter's shoulder pad. Without so much as flinching, the hunter pivots, keeping the flamethrower steady with one hand as he draws a pistol and fires in the same swift motion. Greez cries out in pain.

"_Greez!"_ Cal shouts raggedly.

"One down," the bounty hunter laughs. "Nowhere to run, Jedi!"

Cal throws out his hand in retaliation, the air distorting in front of it as he sends the hunter sprawling onto his back. Splitting his lightsaber in half, he whirls and leaps into the air, hurling a blade at the droid closest to him. The stream of fire cuts off with a sharp screech as the droid staggers back, staring dumbfoundedly at the sparking stump that remains of its arm.

That leaves Anna's droid.

She dashes straight at it before she can hesitate, her heart pounding at the sight of the hungry flames pouring from its wrist. Just as the heat becomes painful, she grasps at the air with both hands and _tears_. The quicksilver responds eagerly, pushing apart the stream of fire with a narrow blast of wind, granting her a path toward her opponent. She can't fight the flames for long. She doesn't need to. Pushing off the ground, she twists through the air to avoid the jet of flame as it reforms under her, singing pieces of loose fabric hanging from her arm wrappings.

"Leave!"

"_What the-" _is all the droid has a chance to say before the crimson blade of the Inquisitor saber is slicing through its flamethrower hose, cutting off the stream of fire and severing two of its fingers in the process.

"Us!"

The droid rotates with a mechanical whine, chains clinking as it brings down the flail on her head. She sees the blow coming from a mile away, and she dashes into it, swinging the lightsaber down in a strike of her own that slices through the chain. The head of the flail lands behind her in a plume of sand.

"_Alone!"_

She carries the momentum of the swing into an upward arc, severing the droid's flail-arm at the shoulder in a shower of sparks. The machine bellows in rage.

Then she feels that prickle on her neck again.

She turns in time to see Cal plunge his blade through the other droid's chest from behind. In slow motion, her eyes focus on a metal ball tumbling through the air closer toward her, black and gleaming.

Grenade.

There's nothing but confusion and blinding white. Dimly, she feels her back meet the ground, knocking the air out of her lungs, but that's nothing compared to the screaming pain in her ears. Her brain feels like it's going to vibrate out of her skull.

Sight returns in blurry outlines. She sees the blob of the bounty hunter leap toward the larger blob of the droid Cal just destroyed—the droid that Cal is still sprawled on top of as he struggles to crawl back to his feet.

_Cal, look out! _she wants to scream, but before the words can leave her mouth her air is cut off by thick durasteel fingers. Frantically, she grasps at the bounty droid's hand, but it hoists her off her feet like a ragdoll. She's not holding the lightsaber anymore.

"_Shouldn't have done that," _the droid growls, its amputated arm still spitting sparks. Swinging its arm, it slams her into the side of the _Mantis's _hull in a dizzying burst of pain. "_Now I'll make you squirm."_

Cal lets out a yell. Over the droid's shoulder, Anna sees the bounty hunter straddling him, forcing a knife through the palm of Cal's hand and down toward his chest.

"Cal!" she chokes, panic rising in a burning wave. For once, she lets it take control, and it surges down her arms like a cold sweat. The droid's fingers begin to glow red-hot under her grasp. Her fingers make indents into the softening metal. It still isn't enough to make it release her. Her vision narrows until she can barely see the light of day.

She must be hallucinating from the lack of air, because she swears tendrils of green light wrap around the droid's body in glowing helices. Then she's falling, barely clinging to the waking world when her limp body strikes the ground with another burst of pain.

"_What is this?" _she hears the droid shout.

She shakes her head, focusing on the sharper edge of the pain, using it as leverage to crack open her eyelids. The droid still looms over her, its arm raised, ready to smash her into the ground. In her dazed state, it takes her a while to realize it's no longer moving. Thick vines of sandstone snake around its body, piercing its bulky torso and splitting the metal open like flower petals where they re-emerge. The monstrous machine's single eye is dark. Lifeless.

Movement catches her attention: a blur of pale hair and red cloth running—no, _flying_ toward where Cal and the bounty hunter are still struggling atop the body of the second droid. Green light flows from outstretched arms, sending the hunter tumbling to the ground as it strikes. The sand below the man rolls like liquid, crawling up his body in writhing tentacles and dragging him into the ground as he struggles to free himself.

"No, no!" he screams, the modulator in his helmet distorting his panic into something terrible and grating.

The hunter's cries are silenced as his head disappears beneath the sand. The unnatural light dissipates, leaving no trace he was ever there.

Not a hallucination, then.

Before Anna can struggle to her feet, a roar sounds from the dunes behind them. Craning her neck, she finds a trail of footprints leading back to the bounty hunters' ship—a ship whose main thrusters are now re-ignited, lifting precariously off the ground. The rattling whine of the vessel's engines dissipate into the wind as the ship disappears into the clear blue sky, leaving behind a cloud of black smoke.

An animal brays somewhere close by. Anna turns to find a large, blunt-looking reptile with stumpy feet and a huge mouth staring down at her with bored eyes. There's a saddle on its back and a bit in its mouth. Slowly, Anna's gaze moves toward its rider.

On the other side of the _Mantis_, Cal pulls the knife out of his hand with a groan. When he sees the rider, he goes as still as a statue.

"Cal Kestis," Nightsister Merrin greets. "You're a hard man to find."

* * *

When the indicator lights on BD-1's tiny torso flicker back to life, Anna breathes a small sigh of relief. The little droid lets out an inquisitive chirp as his larger eye immediately moves to focus on her.

"Hi, little guy," she whispers.

BD-1 chirps again, wriggling in Anna's grasp.

"You feel okay? We got hit by an EMP." Anna adjusts him in her hands, standing him up gently on the lounge table. "You got knocked out. We had to reboot you."

The chirps are longer this time, more concerned. BD-1's leg moves to point toward the bruises on Anna's neck, then the tears on her clothes, still stained with her blood. The stim compartment on his back pops open.

"I had some already." Anna shakes her head with a soft laugh, ignoring the stabs of pain that shoot through her ribs from even that small motion. Clearly, even bacta has its limits. "I'm fine, I swear! You should see the other guy."

"If by 'other guy' you mean me, you're damn right," Greez groans from where he's lying on the other side of the couch. He nurses a bandage over his lower-left shoulder. "Kriff, I hate being shot."

"You sure you're okay, Greez?" Anna scoots over until she's beside the captain, trying to control her movements so they hurt as little as possible.

"It'll take more than that to knock me down, kid," Greez says with a chuckle that turns into a hacking cough. He takes a moment to catch his breath. "He got me pretty good, though. Good thing Lateros have their hearts in their stomachs." At Anna's shocked expression, he raises an eyebrow. "What, you didn't know that?"

"You never told me that, either, Greez," says an unfamiliar voice from the other end of the cabin.

Nightsister Merrin leans by the still-open doorway, lit on one side by the glare of the desert sands, on the other by the dim cabin lights. Her arms are folded loosely over a deep red tunic that hugs her lithe body in swathes. Bangs of ashen hair caked in dust flutter over her forehead, casting shadows over crimson irises that stare back at Anna with steely intensity.

"Guess uh… guess it never came up," Greez mumbles. The cabin goes quiet for a while.

"You saved us back there," Cal says softly. He sits at the edge of the couch, facing away from them, cradling his broken hand in his lap. It's the first time he's spoken in a while. It's the first time he's spoken directly to Merrin since she showed up. He doesn't turn. "How did you find us? How did you escape?"

Merrin turns her gaze back out toward the desert, making the sunlight refract through her irises.

"There was another prisoner. An information broker. He sabotaged the ship, helped me escape on a shuttle. After we parted ways, I kept my ear to the ground." She raises an eyebrow at Greez, a dry smirk on her lips. "I suspected you would come to Tatooine, Greez. When the Brood started going crazy, I knew it had to be you. Only you could cause so much trouble."

Anna expects Cal to laugh, to leap up from the couch and hug this woman he's spent so long searching for. She braces herself for it, braces herself to clamp down on bitter emotions she has no right to be feeling. But Cal doesn't move.

"That's it, then?" Cal's words are hard. Anna can see the tension in his shoulders.

Merrin raises her eyebrows in confusion. The smile slips from her face. "What do you mean?"

"You've been gone for seven months and twenty-one days." There's an accusatory edge to Cal's voice. "We thought you were dead, Merrin."

Merrin uncrosses her arms, her brow furrowing. "Well, I was hardly-"

"You were bait for the Inquisitors!" Cal is almost shouting now. "Cere's gone because we walked into _your _trap!"

"Cal, what are you saying?" Merrin pushes off the wall. "I was imprisoned. They tortured me for weeks. I told them nothing. I did everything I could to keep you hidden." There's a deadly edge to her tone now—one that Cal ignores.

"But none of that matters now, does it?" he snaps. His damaged hand falls limply at his side as he surges to his feet. Anna can feel the raw anger radiating off of him in a cold aura. "If you hadn't gone on that mission, if you'd just _listened _to me, none of this would have happened in the first place!" He takes a single stiff step forward, his good hand clenched into a tight fist.

"Cal, that's enough!" Greez shouts. He tries to sit up, but is interrupted by another coughing fit. Anna rushes to ease him back down.

"How…" Merrin's eyes glisten with tears. "How _dare_ you?"

The slap is so fast the Nightsister's hand is a blur of motion. The sound reverberates in the silent cabin. Cal holds Merrin's gaze for an instant, motionless and trembling. Then he pushes past her, storming off toward the crew quarters without another word. Merrin remains where she stands, her hand frozen in mid-air. Her eyes are still wet, but the tears do not fall.

Anna doesn't dare breathe.

"Not this again," Greez sighs, shattering the silence like glass.

Trundling to the other end of the table, BD-1 chirps a tentative greeting. Merrin lets out a tiny laugh, squeezing a single tear out of the corner of her eye as she leans forward to pat the droid on the head.

"It's good to see you, too." Straightening up, she turns to Anna and holds out a pale, tattooed hand. "I remember you from the prison ship," she says curtly. Just like that, the reserved mask from before is back. "You risked your life to rescue me. I would like to know your name."

"Anna. I'm Anna." Merrin's hand is cool and dry. "Cal's said a lot about you." Anna winces as the words spill out of her mouth. Way to make things awkward.

Merrin barks a single laugh. "I bet he has." She exhales, glancing back out the doorway as she absently rubs her arm. "Look, I know you might not trust me, but we still have a common enemy, and the Empire can't be far behind me. We can't stay here. How long before this thing can fly?"

Right to business. Just like Cal.

"She lost her fin when we boarded the prison ship," Greez says up at the ceiling in a tired voice. "We had some repair droids working on it before the bounty hunters showed up. Guess someone should go up there and reboot them."

"I'm on it," Anna answers, pushing herself to her feet. She feels small toes dig into her back as BD-1 climbs up to her shoulder. "You wanna come too?" she asks over her shoulder.

BD-1 trills an affirmation by her ear. Anna tries to ignore the feeling of Merrin's eyes following her as she makes for the hallway to the stern. The ladder to the maintenance hatch is back in the engine room. Probably where Cal's sulking right now.

She braces herself as she turns the corner. There he is, hunched over the workbench, the creases in the back of his threadbare vest cast into sharp relief by the lights in the ceiling. The sizzle of Cal's multitool on welding mode echoes off the hard walls, accompanied by the occasional spark that bounces off the countertop and disappears into the air. Anna steps closer, leaning to get a better look. Cal's glove lies discarded on the edge of the counter, the tip of the multitool moving delicately over the frayed wires and bent metal of his half-prosthetic left hand. The muscles in his jaw tense and clench as he works. She's close enough now to reach out and touch him, but still he doesn't seem to notice her. Her hand hovers in the air, centimeters from his arm. BD-1 is uncharacteristically quiet.

Her fingers brush his sleeve, and Cal puts down the multitool.

"Hey," he says quietly.

"Hey. Hi," she says back. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. "How's your hand?"

"I'll live. Bastard only got the metal part." Cal holds his hand up to the light, wiggling his fingers experimentally. The gash from the hunter's knife is still big enough to see through to the other side. "Needs some more work, but it'll buff out like the rest."

BD-1 beeps softly from her shoulder.

"I know. I know, BD." Cal exhales. His posture is stiff. He still hasn't looked up from the table. "I just… I need time. I'm sorry."

Anna lets her hand drop. "I'm going to go start the pit droids back up," she announces to Cal's back. She fidgets for a moment, clasping and unclasping her hands. "I'll… I'll be going now."

She makes for the corner of the room, descending the ladder to the maintenance section beneath the floor.

"Anna."

Her hands freeze on the rungs.

"Be careful up there."

"You got it, Master Kestis."

As she stoops down to fit through the narrow corridor, she feels Cal's aura warm just a little.

The ladder to the roof is in the middle of the passage just before the escape pod bay, punching up through the wall between two crew compartments. It's a tight squeeze—this section of the ship clearly wasn't designed to human proportions. She has to hook her knees into the rungs of the ladder to keep herself from falling as she reaches for the button to open the sliding door at the top of the ladder. It opens slowly, sprinkling her with a fine dust that BD-1 shakes off with an indignant chirp.

"What a day, huh?" Anna laughs humorlessly, pulling herself out of the ship with trembling arms. It feels like she hasn't slept in years.

The suns hover low over the horizon, one yellow, one red, casting long shadows over the sea of gold and orange dunes. The pit droids lie at the base of the half-repaired central fin—two tan-coloured bowls of metal lying among the scraps and spare parts scattered all over the deck. She crouches down beside one, picking it up and turning it so its single round eye faces toward her.

"Back to work, slacker," she mumbles teasingly, hitting it on the eye with the side of her fist.

The droid pops open with a high-pitched yelp, scrambling backward away from her before gaining its bearings. It yaps at her in an annoyed tone, gesturing around at the mess. Anna rolls her eyes.

"Don't look at me, I didn't do anything!"

The other pit droid pops up after a determined smack from BD-1. After briefly conferring with each other in unintelligible jibber-jabber, the droids scale back to the top of the fin, dragging precariously large ship-bits with them. With a flare of blowtorches, they set to work with a gusto. BD-1 follows them inquisitively, taking quick scans of the places where damage is still visible on the way.

"Hey, where are you going?" Anna calls. "Come back here!" She shakes her head when the little droid pays her no heed.

The desert breeze is cooler now, more soothing than scalding. Easing herself down to the deck, Anna stretches out over the warm durasteel hull, gazing up at the deep blue sky. One of the moons hangs there, small and round, lit in a narrow crescent by the suns. That's how Arendelle looked when they exited the hyperlane, way back when. She sighs and closes her eyes.

So much has changed. Things are happening too fast. First, the Haxion Brood, and now Nightsister Merrin is back from the dead. Where is all of this leading?

Merrin. Cal's old… partner? Lover? Girlfriend? She takes a long breath. The rational part of her says it shouldn't matter, but that part is small and irrelevant. Does Cal regret letting her go? The way he reacted to her showing up definitely proves he still feels strongly about her leaving the crew, but what does he feel, really?

Does he still love her?

Never mind that Cal would probably jump into a Sarlacc pit before he'd try another relationship given everything he's said—not to mention everything he hasn't. Anna wonders what kind of discipline she would have faced if she'd been a Padawan back before the Jedi Purge. Was it common for apprentices to catch feelings for their masters? Probably grounds for expulsion from the Order, at the very least. She chuckles to herself.

She must have been lying there for longer than she thought, because when she opens her eyes again, the sky is dark. Something chirps urgently from beside her face.

"What is it, BD?" She sits up with a groan, rubbing the bleariness out of her eyes. BD-1 clambers onto her shoulder, shaking her as hard as his little legs allow. "I'm up, I'm up! What's going on?"

Only then does Anna see the massive triangular shadow blotting out the stars on the horizon.

* * *

**Merry Christmas! Here's to happy holidays and bright futures.**


End file.
